


Deleted Scenes

by caffeineandjetfuel



Series: Scratch the Surface [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeineandjetfuel/pseuds/caffeineandjetfuel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of the episodes, the story of everything that happened outside of recorded canon as Douglas Richardson falls for his captain. Douglas-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Abu Dhabi

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to follow the actual episodes but fill in the story around them as Douglas and Martin build their relationship. It's going to be a slow build so hang in there with me! Rating is for future chapters. Also, special thanks to sungmee (tumblr) for beta reading!

“Douglas, we can’t keep on like this.” Carolyn half-snapped the moment he’d shut the door to her office behind him. She was trying very hard to keep her composure when she felt like her company was falling to pieces around her, not that anyone would ever know the real details of their financial state or how she was in a daily struggle fending off the loan sharks. Douglas rolled his eyes dramatically and let out a huff to indicate he couldn’t care less about the impending nagging he was on the receiving end of. “Robert has had his license revoked.”

“Did he now?” Douglas said with Shakespearean skill. Still, the turn of his lips and gleam in his eyes were not lost on Carolyn’s hound-like senses.

“Yes, and I’m sure you had nothing to do with it this time either, hm?” the older woman glared up at the first officer past her reading glasses.

“How could I have? After all, I wasn’t the one attempting to smuggle Mexican jumping beans into the country. And if by “this time” you’re referring to dear old Joe, if he was intimidated by my finesse, well, that’s not exactly my fault, is it?”

“Or perhaps it was less to do with your finesse and more to do with your psychological terrorism. And you’re not distracting me from the issue at hand. I’ve no idea how you managed to do it, but I know that Robert certainly wouldn’t have been sneaking the damn things into the country in his pants.”

This time Douglas couldn’t hold back a small snicker. It sure had been something to see the man start to squirm when they’d begun to react to his body heat.

“Douglas, I will say this once. If you run off this next one, we will all be out of a job. I can’t keep rearranging things around interviewing new pilots, I just can’t. Luckily for you, I managed to find a new one before we lost any work over it, so for all our sakes, give this one a decent chance.”

Douglas was tempted to tell her what really happened to spur him into the latest scheme to rid the flight deck of another captain. Truthfully, Joe had simply been unspeakably dull, and Douglas was pretty sure he’d go mad if the rule of absolute silence in the flight deck were to continue being in effect. That may have been a bit underhanded, but Douglas valued his sanity over that man’s company. Robert, though…he had deserved far worse than simply having his license revoked.

At first, Robert had been alright. He participated in some of the word games Douglas liked to indulge in, and even came up with a few of his own. Then he’d come up with a new game called Gullibility. The idea was to see what ridiculous thing they could convince Arthur of in the course of a single flight. It was all in good fun for a while, Douglas had Arthur thoroughly convinced that he was a sort of android at one point, which was great fun until Arthur decided to put oil in his coffee.

But then one day while Robert had left the flight deck for the loo, he noticed Arthur seemed off, and it was then Douglas discovered the man had been systematically convincing him that his mother had an incurable disease and would be dead inside of a week. The poor boy had burst into wracking sobs and been inconsolable for the better part of five hours of their fourteen hour flight. Of course this had taken place on a three night trip, and Arthur had rung Carolyn at least fifty times long distance to assure himself that she was healthy and well. For his part, Robert showed no remorse whatsoever, and in fact seemed more annoyed at having to help comfort the grown man. He had to go.

“Certainly, Carolyn. When will it be my pride and privilege to meet our newest compadre?”

“He starts on Monday, the cargo flight to Dublin.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

That Monday, Douglas pulled into the air field parking lot, noting the addition of a rather rickety van -- a faded paint job advertising for an electrician -- to the usual assortment of vehicles. Perhaps the lights needed fixing in the portacabin, then again what didn’t need fixing? It was strange though that the electrician was still seated in the driver’s seat. He didn’t get a very good look as he passed but he could swear the man was taking deep nervous breaths and checking his reflection in the mirror. What an odd fellow.

The first officer made his way inside and sat down, propping his feet up on the desk and tipping his chair back comfortably so that it balanced precariously on two legs. “Not here, yet, I take it?” he mused to Arthur, who was rearranging the welcome banner he’d strung up for every captain so far, and in fact hadn’t taken down since the last one.

“Morning, Douglas!” Arthur chirped merrily, abandoning the banner to pour a cup of coffee for the older man. “Nope!”

The door opened and the electrician from before entered, only now it occurred to Douglas he was wearing a uniform…a captain’s uniform. He was a short, rather thin man with ginger hair and eyes like a squall. A smattering of freckles across his cheeks emphasized his youthful features, making him appear younger than he actually was, though he still couldn’t be much older than thirty. He swallowed nervously.

“H-hello, chaps, I’m Mar-C-Captain, Captain Mar- Captain Crieff…Martin, is my name.”

“Oh, you’re the skipper! Brilliant!” Arthur wasted no time in pulling the man into a hug tight enough to lift the overwhelmed captain off his feet an inch.

“Well, Martin, you see before you Arthur Shappey, the steward of our little enterprise.” Arthur shot the newcomer a blinding smile that could only be fueled by caffeine and jet fuel. “And you’ve already met Carolyn, who has seen fit to let us run the business for her today. I am First Officer Douglas Richardson. Pleasure.”

Martin recovered from the shock of being picked up by Arthur, though he still seemed a bit shaken by the unexpected welcome. He quickly rearranged his immaculate uniform, pressing out the wrinkles with his hands. So this was the new captain. Douglas felt a melancholy settle over him at the thought that he was now under this red-headed man who was many years his junior. Martin looked at him with wide blue eyes and offered a tight smile.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. So. I suppose we ought to go over the safety procedures first thing.”

“Brilliant! I’ve never done that before!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Nor have I…mostly because no one ever does them.” Douglas yawned, picking up a magazine and leafing through it idly.

Martin frowned, looked unsure, then drew himself up as tall as he could muster and stated more firmly, “Well then you’re in for a treat, because we’re doing them as per regulations.”

It was going to be a long day.

[][][][][][][][][][]

This new arrival to the captain’s chair, Douglas admitted, was decidedly different from anyone he’d ever flown with before. It turned out he had as little flying experience as he appeared to have. Still, he was mostly amiable, and amazingly easy to poke fun at. Unlike his predecessors, he had easily been goaded into playing word games, and he was just good enough at them to make the long hours in the air enjoyable without actually winning very often, which was pleasing to Douglas’ competitive nature. Truth be told, Douglas liked how inexperienced his new counterpart was. There was a (mostly) unspoken knowledge that he was the better pilot of the two of them, which kept at bay the creeping feeling that he was a failure as he took his place in the first officer’s seat.

That’s not to say that Martin didn’t have his faults. His lack of confidence made him defensive of his position as captain, as though someone was going to take it from him, and so he made a bit of a show their first few flights of establishing his authority, which Douglas found annoying and more than a little insulting. Douglas needed no reminding of which of them was the captain. He was intensely aware of the fact that he was the first officer to this younger man, and although he tried to be the bigger man, he found he had an innate resentment towards the ginger for this, especially when he took it upon himself to remind him.

Still, Douglas found he enjoyed finding out how many shades of angry red he could get Martin’s face to go without actually triggering a lifelong hatred. He particularly loved it when he could flaunt his superior knowledge, and not just when it came to flying skills. Art, music, language, literature…Martin was a one-track mind geared toward aeroplanes and so was remarkably lacking in the well-rounded knowledge base Douglas sported, which he found out quickly was something Martin found annoying.

“Douglas, I’m not impressed by your Air England mates. When you’re on Captain Bligh’s aircraft, you can do it his way, but when you’re on mine, you do it mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” Douglas responded slowly, deciding it was about time to let up for now.

“Yes what?” Martin cut in quickly. Apparently Douglas had pushed him a little further than he’d thought and he was ready to pick a fight.

“Yes it is.”

“Yes it is what?”

“Yes it is understood.” Douglas could see where this was going and the beginnings of a frown curved on the edges of his lips.

“Yes it is understood what?”

Douglas stared hard at him for a moment, but he gave no sign of backing down. “Yes it is understood…please?”

“I’m waiting.” Martin crossed his arms resolutely. He sounded like Douglas’ mother.

“Martin, you’re not seriously asking me to call you ‘sir’.”

“Yes I am. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Well, to select just one reason from the fifteen or sixteen that present themselves, I’m old enough to be your father.” Neither of them was backing down on this one, and it was quickly shaping up to be the moment that Martin landed himself a one-way ticket out of a job. Douglas could think of lots of ways to manipulate Martin out of his role, and that was without even taking into account the fact that Martin had horrendous luck.

“Not unless you started very young.” Martin retorted.

“I did.” He almost thought he’d rattled Martin with that thought, as a blush stained Martin’s cheeks and he got visibly flustered for a moment.

“Right, well, I think your age and your previous role is giving you a rather skewed view of the chain of authority on this aircraft, and maybe a little observation of the formalities will help remind you which one of us is still the captain. So: is that understood?”

“Yes…” Douglas scowled and swallowed the bitterness down before grimly adding, “…Sir.”

Martin was going to regret that moment. He wanted to be called sir? Douglas would give him more sir than he knew what to do with. From that moment on he carefully added the title to everything he referenced Martin in, making sure to say it in such a way that the mocking undertones could be heard.

“And where were you in all this, Douglas? Don’t tell me you voluntarily went to Bristol.” Carolyn rounded on him, which was only to be expected. He suspected she kept him around mostly to utilize his clever plots that kept MJN above water.

“I did suggest an alternative plan to Sir, Carolyn, but Sir quite properly reminded me that Sir is in command, and we should all obey Sir at all times.”

Carolyn’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. She and Douglas had one very real connection in the realm of empathizing and that is that they both understood the feeling of being a washed-up older person surrounded by younger more successful people. She was most definitely in Douglas’ corner on this one. “Who reminded you?”

“Captain Crieff, or – as I am privileged to call him – Sir.”

And in an instant the CEO’s wrath was back on Martin, which Douglas considered fitting punishment. Martin wouldn’t like being treated like a misbehaving child any more than Douglas did, and much as Carolyn tried to be scary she always did come across more like a mother scolding a disobedient child.

[][][][][][][][][][]

By the next week, Douglas’ immediate anger had mostly cooled, but he was the sort that held grudges, and it didn’t help that he and Helena were arguing again. Martin had been dancing on the edge of his nerves all morning, which was in itself a dangerous endeavor, because Douglas was a decided grouch when forced to be awake in the early AM hours. He tried, really tried, to keep his calm, but he was honestly still deciding whether or not to drive the boy off and court Carolyn’s wrath when the man had the gall to say, “Douglas, do I have to remind you again who’s in command?” And with those words, Douglas’ more sadistic side reared its ugly head and he gave up all thoughts of being helpful.

As they got back to flying, though, he began to have a small attack of conscience. Perhaps he was being hard on Martin. He almost missed the direction the sat comm conversation was leading as he debated. “On.” He blurted, surprising himself a little at the split second decision to save the man beside him and ignoring Martin’s noise of indignation as he pressed on, “Sir means on, naturally. It was on. Whoops! Must go now, Carolyn – here comes a mountain. Cheerio!”

Martin gave him a look that was halfway between disbelief and a sort of hurt anger as he ended the call. “Douglas, is this some half-baked revenge attempt? Because, if so, it’s really pointless. Why would she believe I deliberately turned it on?”

“Why indeed? But I had this sort of feeling you might hope she did, what with the cat in the hold and all.” He took less delight in the way Martin’s face drained of color than he had imagined he would.

“…Oh God.”

“Precisely. I did try to remind you.”

“Oh God.” Martin was definitely starting to panic internally. “D’you think it’s dead?” the poor boy looked horrified.

“No, no. Definitely not. Not yet.” Douglas had been keeping tabs on the time, and was certain the creature could still be saved. This was shaping up to be an interesting test of Martin’s character. Was he the sort of man who would let the cat freeze to death? All Douglas really wanted was for Martin to simply acknowledge that with his experience his advice was worth noting. Martin spent the next few minutes panicking and waffling about what to do.

Douglas hadn’t really been planning on letting the situation slip to Arthur. He generally preferred the boy be ignorant to the less than savory goings-on aboard GERTI, but in that instant all he wanted was to wipe that smug expression off of Martin’s face. “Well, Arthur, there’s a very simple explanation; but just to finish what we were saying, Martin, I think it’s entirely up to you whether you let the cat in the hold freeze to death.”

“What?!” Arthur nearly dropped the biscuits in his upset.

“Douglas!” Martin growled.

“Skipper!” Arthur exclaimed.

“No-one wants to hear the explanation. What a shame.” Douglas sat back, smirking triumphantly. The next few moments were devoted to Arthur slowly catching up to the situation and, inevitably, pulling out that small crushed voice he only used in the most delicate of circumstances. As slow as Arthur sometimes acted, Douglas often wondered if he knew exactly what he was doing when he utilized his natural sympathetic powers to get his way. After all, he had a string of ex-girlfriends and they had to come from somewhere.

Finally, Martin threw his hands up in defeat.

“All right. Fine. Fine! All right. It’s only a job. There’ll be other jobs.” The tone in Martin’s voice said it wasn’t just a job to him, and it was only then that Douglas realized how much Martin wanted to be there. Really wanted to be there. It wasn’t just a dead end job because Air England sacked him the way it was to Douglas. It wasn’t just a way to pay the bills. It was his dream job. He’d probably rejoiced when he was offered the position.

“One moment, please, Tower.” Douglas switched the radio off. Martin gave him a dimly curious look while maintaining his state of dejection.

“What is it, Douglas?” He sighed, and Douglas knew that look. It was the look of a man who felt the sharp knife of failure.

“Captain…” Douglas gave him a small smile and struck a match, holding it between them like a peace offering, a chance to start over fresh. “I do believe I can smell smoke in the flight deck. Can you smell smoke in the flight deck, Captain?”

Martin slowly shifted, sitting back up into his naturally perfect posture, returning the smile tentatively as he dared to let himself hope. “Yes. Yes, I can, Douglas. Could you request an immediate diversion, please?”

“Certainly, Sir.” Douglas replied with a grin and a teasing glint in his eyes. For the first time, Douglas saw Martin as someone who might fit into their odd family.


	2. Cremona/Douz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped Boston, I know. I'm only writing through episodes that I have enough content to contribute to. Also, some chapters will be more episode-heavy than others, but as the fic progresses there will be more and more original scenes that break away from what you've heard and know. I'm going to try to continue updating every three days, as I'm miles ahead now (all the way to Newcastle). Thanks for sticking around to read more and thanks to sungmee for beta!

Douglas dropped his flight bag beside the door and kicked his shoes off in the entry hall before heading through the silent house. A smile tugged at his lips when he caught a whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen. Helena didn’t cook very often, generally preferring to leave the culinary arts to Douglas, but when she did it usually meant he’d find her in a good mood, which would be a welcome change from her behavior of late. He slipped into the kitchen and sidled up behind her, wrapping his arms around her slim waist from behind and tucking a kiss into the hair behind her ear.

“Honey, I’m home.” He teased, but his grin fled when she stiffened in his embrace and shrugged him off, side-stepping out of arms reach.

“Not now, Douglas.” She muttered, pouring herself a tall glass of wine as though enduring his simple presence required the aid of alcohol. Douglas ignored the gnawing in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the deep red liquid. It had been eight years since his last slip up, but the struggle was still real. He forced his eyes away, looking instead at the pot of pasta his wife had been stirring moments ago. Dinner for one. He told himself she hadn’t been sure if he’d be home late, and he almost believed himself. Almost.

“How was your day?” He asked, pouring himself a glass of water. After a long silence, he pressed on, “Mine was rather interesting towards the end. Tomorrow we’re flying Hester Macauley to Italy. She’s a film star no one’s ever heard of, but Arthur seemed quite taken with her work in some Camelot knock off.”

“Italy…staying the night?” Helena seemed to perk up a bit and Douglas in turn shriveled up inside. Frowning, he turned to her.

“Yes, for a night…Darling, I don’t pretend to know what’s wrong, but I do wish you’d tell me if I’ve done something to upset you.” And just like that, Helena’s defensive walls were back up. She held the glass of wine close to her breast, her eyes searching the depths of the swirling liquid as though it might tell her how to get rid of him.

“There’s nothing wrong, Douglas…I wish you’d stop about it.”

“Helena, please…I know you’ve been…” He searched for the right word before continuing, “distant lately. You know whatever it is, we can work it ou-“

He didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence as Helena interrupted with a terse, “I’m going to bed. Please don’t join me.” She left the room, the conversation left hanging in the air with the aroma of pasta. Douglas fell asleep on the couch that night, the telly keeping him company since his wife would not.

[][][][][][][][][][]

When Douglas arrived at the air field the next morning, he had a crick in his neck and his back ached to high heaven, reminding him that he was too old to be falling asleep anywhere other than a bed. He had never been a morning person, and that in addition to being accosted by an animated Arthur the moment he stepped out of his Lexus had left his patience growing thin.

When the two of them stepped into the portacabin together, he blinked in surprise when he caught sight of his captain. Martin could clean up surprisingly well. He seemed to have taken extra care in his grooming today, having used some product in his hair and taken the time to shave cleanly. Married or not, Douglas could appreciate the aesthetic beauty of the ginger man.

“Morning, Martin. You’re looking very smart.”

"No I'm not, no more than usual, this is how I always look, what are you saying?" Martin said rapidly, a sort of self-conscious embarassment taking hold of him. He was even more appealing with that touch of pink staining his cheeks.

"Yes, you're quite right. It was an unforgiveable compliment. I do apologize." Douglas responded, keeping the annoyance out of his tone. He was trying to be nice when he was in a rotten mood and Martin reacted like he was telling him he had toilet paper stuck to his shoe. 

By the time they arrived at the Excelsior, Douglas’ mood had worsened. His back was absolutely killing him, and he had to look forward to staying at the Garibaldi, which would no doubt ensure he’d wake up tomorrow even worse off. So when he saw his opportunity to turn things in his favor, he couldn’t resist pulling Martin’s strings. He supposed he ought to feel bad for manipulating Martin like this, but there was no way he was staying at the Garibaldi tonight, and so he kept at it, swaying the situation subtly in his favor where he saw the chance. The only thing he hadn’t counted on was Carolyn ratting him out. Martin had turned a steely gaze on him and growled his name in frustration, and Douglas couldn’t really blame him, he’d been jumping through hoops all day at his first officer’s whim.

“…Mixed nut?” Douglas offered sheepishly, still confident that given some goading he could convince Martin to share the Excelsior room and avoid the hell that was the Garibaldi.  
   
[][][][][][][][][][]

“I’m sorry, but we can’t be too careful.” Martin said, but what Douglas heard was ‘you’re a bad pilot and I don’t trust you’. He sat back in his seat, stewing. The captain managed to land GERTI, of course, albeit sloppily, and notably avoided Douglas’ glaring gaze as Carolyn burst into the flight deck with complaints.

“Have no fear – Martin will be in control throughout.” Douglas glowered moodily, taking solace in the guilty look Martin shot him. Over the course of the next two hours, his mood lightened somewhat and he grudgingly started talking to Martin again. One thing he really couldn’t stand was absolute silence, even when he was angry. He got enough of that at home these days. And so they talked about nothing substantial: sports and the weather and the MJN promotional photos. Still, Douglas was of the unfortunate nature of being the sort to hold grudges when slighted, and the slow burn of his ire had only dimmed slightly with conversation, so he relished the fact that he was again mistaken for the captain.

“You know, Martin, these little airfields do rather try things on sometimes if they suspect you’re not…” he said, letting his voice trail off.

“What? Not what?” Martin asked anxiously.

“Oh, nothing.” He responded, knowing that it would put Martin in a puffy mood and likely get the man into some sort of minor trouble with the airfield manager that he could take pleasure in. Things escalated quickly to a degree Douglas hadn’t anticipated, and they were trapped, quite literally. Mr. Jutteau surrounded them on all sides by vehicles. Douglas was intending to put aside his anger for the time being and help in light of the current situation, but then Martin had made a shot at Douglas’ thinking process and his ire returned in full volume.

“All right, then, Captain, I’ll just sit back and watch you masterfully sort it out, shall I?” He sat back, feigning relaxation. He knew it was rather childish, in fact it reminded him of his daughter when she was cross with someone, but he was angry enough not to care terribly much.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Don’t you worry: Martin’s in control. I have no doubt he’ll come up with something.” He told Carolyn with no small degree of petulance when she’d pulled him under the wing, sweating under the Tunisian sun in nothing but an undershirt and black boxers.

“I thought so. This is all because Martin took the landing off you, isn’t it? So now you’re not going to help.” Carolyn had a knack for seeing through people, shrewd as she was, and it made Douglas wonder sometimes how it could be she had two failed marriages.

“Martin needs no help from the humble likes of I. Martin is-“

Carolyn interrupted him before he could wax poetic about the wonder that is Martin Crieff. “Oh, stop it. Just stop it, will you? I need you to get us out of this. This is serious.”

Douglas had had it. Why was everything down to him to solve? Was he really to be expected to sit back and take being treated like a sub-par pilot and have to save the day without complaint? He was having enough of a time trying to sort out what he’d done to get on Helena’s bad side. But then Carolyn told him something he hadn’t expected.

“I had money. Eight years ago I had money after the divorce – more money than I knew what to do with – and, as you say, an aeroplane – more aeroplane than I knew what to do with. But then I started to run an air charter business. Now I have three mortgages on the house. I have to keep the car because I have to have something smart to pick clients up in, and I have to keep the plane because…well, the minimum number of planes for a viable airline is one. But I don’t have any money. Why do you think I’m always going on at you two for how much you spend? Do you think I enjoy it?”

Douglas was gobsmacked, and not sure what to do with this information. “Well…yes.” He replied through the haze of his whirring mind. The full gravity of the situation was only now sinking in when she told him that she was in danger of going bankrupt.

“But, if you’ve been losing all this money, why have you kept on doing it all these years?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Because I am the Chief Executive Officer of MJN Air. It’s a good thing to be. It’s better than…” She trailed off a bit and sighed, “…a little old lady.”

Douglas understood that sentiment. He often felt like he was growing old and useless, and today’s events had expounded that feeling with the younger captain taking away his landing. And so, Douglas swallowed his pride and came up with a plan. He and Martin were soon sneakily siphoning the petrol out of the vehicles and into GERTI, careful not to be seen.

“Erm…Douglas…?” Martin said softly when they were alone. Douglas made a hum of acknowledgement as he went about starting the first tank siphoning.

“…I’m sorry about taking the landing off you…”

“Now is really not the time, Mar-“

Martin interrupted, “Yes it is, Douglas. You have every right to be angry with me, I know, but…well…I don’t want you to be.”

Douglas frowned a little and finally sighed, letting go of his anger. “You’re forgiven. Besides, you clearly needed the practice more than I do.”

Martin visibly relaxed and let a small smile grace his freckled face. “So, how often have you done this sort of thing, anyway?” he asked, gesturing to their current task curiously.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, captain.” Douglas smirked and stretched while they waited for the second vehicle to drain, pretending not to notice when Martin’s eyes lingered on his exposed muscles, as he still had yet to put his shirt back on, though he had acquiesced to Carolyn’s request he at least throw his trousers on. If he hadn’t already forgiven Martin, that stroke to his ego had done the trick.

Before long they were making their way down the desert highway. “Do you want me to drive for a bit, darling?” Douglas asked light-heartedly.

Martin smiled back, his face lighting up at the jest. “No thanks, dear. You know I get car-sick in the passenger seat.”


	3. Fitton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hope you guys stick it out with me until I get them together. I feel like most fanfiction lacks that slow build up and just rushes into the juicy stuff. Anyway I promise it'll be worth it! Thanks to sungmee for beta reading like a pro and I'll see you guys on the 21st!

When Douglas woke up that morning, he took several minutes to collect himself as he stared at the bare space in the bed next to him. He made his way downstairs and poured himself a mug of coffee, seating himself across from Helena at the dining table.

“You didn’t wait for me to wake up.” He mused softly, thinking back on previous anniversaries, when they had shared lazy days in bed and he had been the first to leave, if only to cook a lavish breakfast in bed for her. She pretended not to have heard him as she continued to peruse the newspaper. “I always make you breakfast in bed today, Helena, you know that.” He stated, a little louder. It was their anniversary, damn it, and he wasn’t going to be ignored.

“I have errands and you have work, you wouldn’t have had time to cook anyway.” She said, flipping to the next page of the paper with more force than was necessary.

“Helena.” He said firmly, channeling his hurt into anger. 

“What?! What do you want from me?!” she burst out, slamming the newspaper down on the table.

“A little common courtesy on our anniversary, of all days! Is it too much to ask, if after three years of marriage,” Douglas stopped himself, taking a deep calming breath, “I don’t want to fight when that’s not what this is about, Darling…here’s the ultimatum. Either you tell me what’s been eating you and we actually have it out about the real issues in our relationship, or you set aside whatever it is and pretend there’s nothing wrong for today…your choice.”

“…I’ll be in bed waiting for breakfast, then…” Helena said softly, and Douglas tried not to feel disappointed.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas was a man with many secrets. Most of them were small, innocuous little things. He kept his life as regimented and separate as he could. Work and home didn’t mix, and that was how he liked it. He was, to all outward appearances, a happily married man. Before he stepped into the portacabin, he pasted on his trademark Richardson expression.

“God, the rain’s horrible outside.” He groused before taking in the assortment of pots, bowls, and buckets that were collecting little puddles around the room. “…and inside.”

“Douglas, you are forty-five minutes late.” Carolyn placed herself squarely in front of him, glaring up at him from her shorter height.

“Oh dear, how terribly remiss of me. And Mr. Goddard is, of course, so famously punctual. I do hope I haven’t kept him waiting.” He replied snarkily. Forty-five minutes late because he had insisted on the most awkward breakfast in bed ever to be cooked or eaten. Complete with forced smiles, deafening silence, and halting polite conversation murmured over pancakes and orange juice.

“It’s a job, Douglas, a job for which you are being paid like any other and I expect you to be on time.” Something glimmered in Carolyn’s eyes, some recognition of the tired remnants of marital dispute in the set of his jaw or the tightness of his lips, a state they both understood well enough, and she stepped out of the way, letting the matter drop much quicker than she had intended. He didn’t have the energy for keeping the stress out of his demeanor, but he still didn’t much feel like telling his pseudo-family about his personal problems.

“I am chastened and ashamed.” Douglas made his way further in, taking in Martin dutifully trying to do some paperwork without knocking over the bowl sitting on the desk next to his elbow. “Arthur, tea.”

“Uh, yep, will do, Douglas. Just trying to fix this leak first.” Arthur glanced back and forth between him and the spot on the ceiling he was reaching with the help of a step ladder a few times as though not sure which task should take priority.

“Oh well, in that case: Arthur, tea?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

The four of them made their way to the plane, where they could at least relax in the relative comfort of being dry while it poured buckets outside. Martin was keen on reviewing emergency procedures, and so they humored him, if only because it was better than letting Arthur drag them into a game of charades. Martin stormed into the flight deck when Douglas and Carolyn teased him about some of the operations he’d revised, and Douglas offered to be the one to talk to him. He wasn’t much in the mood to be around Arthur’s cheeriness today, and talking quietly with Martin in the solitude of the flight deck appealed to him on several levels. Martin was good company most of the time, and easy to talk to, and somehow cheering Martin up managed to cheer himself up as well, and they fell into light conversation as they sat back in their respective seats.

Douglas’ mind drifted back to Helena, and before he knew it he was opening up that tiny bit to the other man, giving him a glimpse into the other side of his life, the side no one else on the air field was privy to. “It’s my anniversary, you know.”

“Is it?” Martin’s eyebrows lifted a fraction, his gaze leaving the rain pelting the window to look at Douglas curiously. Douglas hummed in affirmation.

“Three years today.”

Martin was silent for a moment as he mulled the information over. “Happy anniversary, Douglas.” For reasons Douglas couldn’t explain, hearing those words spoken with Martin’s genuine and guile-less voice warmed him.

“What about you, Martin, have you got anyone in your life at the moment?”

Martin blinked, not having expected that question apparently. “Not really…it’s hard to meet girls. I mean, long-term ones that is.”

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that. There’s got to be some local place you can find that special someone.”

“There isn’t, though. After the age of thirty, you just don’t meet anyone new. You’re on your raft with your friends, and everyone else is on their raft. Sometimes the rafts bump into each other, but there’s no raft-hopping. And I’ve managed to get on an all-boys raft.” Martin frowned and let out a small sigh.

Douglas noted the emphasis on meeting a girl, but it felt forced, and he was beginning to see the entirety of Martin’s situation. He was fairly certain the captain swung the other way, or at least both ways, but the man desperately wanted to keep swinging for the one team, probably because of some family member or other. Douglas didn’t know much about Martin’s family yet, but he knew they had a certain sense of propriety they had instilled in the ginger man and that they had sent him to a private school for boys, which contributed to his current complaint of not knowing many women.

“Well, there’s always weddings. I met all three of my wives at weddings.” Douglas offered up, wanting to give Martin some measure of hope for a romantic future. He had never had a problem meeting people, male or female. His problem had always been firmly rooted in the keeping them stage. And yes, some of the problem was probably poor judgment on his side, but he had to wonder if he was somehow fundamentally flawed at being in a relationship.

“Really?!” Martin asked incredulously.

“Mmm, course. The third one, I met at my wedding…which was a trifle awkward.”

“Yes, I imagine it would be!”

“Yeah, my second marriage wasn’t my favorite.” He admitted. It was probably because his heart hadn’t been in it. He and Maggie had ended up together in a drunken haze at the wedding reception, one thing had led to another and one broken condom and nine months later, he had become a father. He’d been raised in a time when the natural thing to do when you got a girl in trouble was to marry her, and so he had.

“Which one was?”

“Oh, the current Mrs. Richardson, hands down! She’s smashing!” Douglas responded, forcing more enthusiasm than he felt into the statement. When they’d been married, Douglas had been over the moon. He still was deeply in love with her in his heart, but lately he wondered if this marriage was crumbling around him as well. “Look: I got her this for our anniversary.”

As Douglas explained the meaning behind the brown sauce, he wished it was something he was doing just out of being a romantic. He was a hopeless romantic, yes, but he had put special effort into this gift, trying to mend the cracks in their relationship. He wished he’d never brought it up when Martin started asking why Helena was so special, because honestly, he wasn’t sure how to effectively lie about this. He never talked about his love life, so he hadn’t rehearsed a story.

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, she’s clever and funny and kind and beautiful and so on and et cetera – you know, the standard specs. But, I think if I’m honest, what it really comes down to is, she thinks I’m terrific.” Okay, that was a lie. Or possibly a lie. For some time now he had wondered if she even cared for him anymore. But he repeated the assertion, if only to help convince himself. Yes, she must love him.

“And that’s enough to make you happy together, is it – your shared belief in the terrificness of you?”

“It’s not a bad start.” Douglas dodged the question.

“But does it make you happy? Truly happy?” Martin pressed on.

“Oh, well, come on. No-one’s truly happy.” The first officer retorted before he even knew what he was saying, and for the first time he realized how truly unhappy he was.

[][][][][][][][][][]

That night, Douglas drove home, sitting in the parked car for a moment as he switched out his epaulettes with practiced hands. “Hello, darling. Have a good day?” He asked when he went inside. Helena made a hum at him, but didn’t answer the question. His shoulders slumped a little in defeat. “Helena…won’t you at least talk to me?”

Before she could answer, the doorbell rang.

“Oh. Martin!” He was surprised when he answered it to find Martin standing outside his door, dressed in faded jeans and a t-shirt. He had never seen Martin outside of his uniform before, and he couldn’t help the spark of attraction at the sight.

“Hello, Douglas.” Martin said, biting his lower lip and scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground as though he suddenly felt like he was overstepping his bounds by intruding on the invisible barrier between work and home that the first officer maintained.

“What are you doing here?” Douglas asked awkwardly, trying not to seem like he was nervously rushing Martin away even though he was.

“I just stopped by to give you this. You left it on the plane.” Martin pulled the bottle of brown sauce out of the rucksack he had slung over his shoulder, handing it to him.

“Oh! Right. Yes. Er, thank you.” Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.

“You’re welcome.” The ginger man replied awkwardly, “Just thought I’d stop by on my way home. I mean, I’m not really on my way, actually, but to save your anniversary, I thought…”

“I know, and I-I do appreciate it. I really do.” Douglas paused and they stared at one another for an uncomfortably long moment. “Well, I won’t keep you.” He had almost got Martin out of there when the captain noticed his epaulettes, and that in turn dragged the conversation on long enough that Helena became curious and approached.

“Who is it, Dougie?” she asked, pasting on a cheery air for the stranger at the door, keeping up their illusion of blissful matrimony even as she purposely used a pet name she knew he hated. And then came the time for introductions.

“Martin, this is my wonderful wife Helena. Helena, this is my…” he paused, praying that Martin would play along for him and choosing his words carefully in a silent plea, “…trusted and valued first officer, Martin Crieff.” Martin, for his part, took a thoughtful pause before slowly agreeing to this change of role, carefully begging out of the invitation to come inside.

Yes, Douglas had secrets, and some of them were small and innocuous, and some of them were tentatively holding his marriage together.


	4. Gdansk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sungmee for beta reading!

As he removed his epaulettes that evening and shrugged out of his uniform, he paused and stared at Helena, watching her doing her own evening routine. Maybe the talking needed to start with him if he was ever going to get her to open up to him about what was bothering her.

“Darling?” He stopped unbuttoning his shirt and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. She turned slightly in her seat at her dresser mirror, eyes begging him not to return to the topic. “I…have a bit of a confession to make…the man you met before, Martin? He’s…well, he’s my captain. I’m the first officer.”

Helena relaxed her tense shoulders and it made him relax as well, feeling the weight lifting off him. Her lips turned upwards in a relieved smile. “I’m…glad you told me, Douglas.” She said, choosing her words with care, “It makes it easier to tell you this.” The stony silence was pregnant with tension. “I’ve been having an affair. With Ralph.”

Douglas took a moment to process the information as his world fell apart. The thought had never occurred to him that she was cheating on him, or maybe it hadn’t occurred to him because he hadn’t wanted it to. Loyalty was something that Douglas had always felt strongly about, and he had never once been unfaithful to any of his wives. As his brain caught up, her words began to sink in. “The Tai Chi teacher?”

“Yes.” Helena was just staring at him.

“How long?” he asked numbly.

“Six months...I wanted to tell you before, I just…couldn’t find the words.”

Douglas stood mechanically, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door. He wasn’t prepared to handle this. He spent that night in a hotel room, pretending he was on a trip and Martin was in the room adjoining and his life wasn’t taking a massive nose dive.

[][][][][][][][][][]

The next day, the first officer returned home. He couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel for an extended period of time, and even if he could it wouldn’t change the fact that sooner or later he was going to have to face up to the problem. Helena watched him with bated breath and worried eyes, but didn’t say anything as he gathered some of his things and moved into the guest bedroom. It was where Emily stayed when she spent weekends with him, and contained more than a few of her things left there on previous trips and a good deal of her artwork. The rough crayon sketches made him feel infinitely better, and for once he was glad Emily had never warmed up to Helena, because it meant she wasn’t featured in any of the lopsided portraits. 

Interaction with Helena was stiff and forced. They didn’t discuss the future yet, what her admission meant for the two of them. She seemed to be leaving it up to him when they would broach that topic again. At work he maintained his unaffected look. Martin, thankfully, had kept quiet about their encounter at his door, for which Douglas was grateful. He could almost pretend that it hadn’t happened.

And then Martin brought up those damned epaulettes, and suddenly the rage that had been boiling within finally breached the surface.

“All right, Sonny Jim. A month’s salary.” 

“I didn’t mean…A month’s salary’s a bit…”

“You’re right. We might as well do it properly. Three months’ salary.”

“No! I didn’t mean-“

“I thought you wanted to bet. I thought you wanted to win at something.” Douglas bullied the captain into accepting the bet, taking the edge off his murderous intentions.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Instead of three months’ salary, you may bet me all rights in perpetuity to the story of me letting Helena believe I’m a captain.” He offered when he finally reigned in his temper. It really wasn’t fair to take this out on Martin. It wasn’t as if he’d been the one to tell Helena, or the one to sleep with her behind his back, and as far as he knew Martin had no connection whatsoever to damnable Tai Chi or the Chinese. “If you lose, you never ever get to tell, mention, allude to or hint at that story, so long as we both shall live.”

To his astonishment, Martin didn’t take those terms. Of course, because Douglas was lucky, they also didn’t arrive in Gdansk on time. “God moves in mysterious ways in order to do lovely things for Douglas Richardson.” Unless it came to his love life, then he could pretty much count on getting shafted.

Douglas felt a great deal less down in the dumps when Martin revealed his own secret. “I don’t have a salary.” He sighed, “Look, when I had my interview with Carolyn, it wasn’t to be captain, it was to be first officer, and by the end I …” He let out a groan. “…I could see I wasn’t gonna get it, so I said…last-ditch try…I said I’d work for half of whatever she gave the last guy, and this funny light came into her eyes and she said, “A third,” and I said, “No,” and there were some pretty heavy negotiations and…we agreed on a quarter, only then when I was leaving she said, “How little would you take to be captain?” and after some more…negotiation, we decided I would be captain and…she wouldn’t pay me at all. My salary is nothing. And three times nothing is nothing. So…so, so! I’ve tricked you! Ha! Yeah! Now you’re the loser!”

Suddenly, Douglas’ problems came into sharp perspective. His captain didn’t get paid for the long hours he spent in the air, in other countries, in the portacabin dutifully filling out his logbooks. Whatever he did to earn a living, he probably didn’t make much with the hours he had to keep. And he had the unfortunate condition of being a man with terrible luck, whose plans literally caused deaths via heart attack and who had lost an entire cheese tray of bets in a matter of hours. Douglas wasn’t so angry anymore.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Without that anger building up under the surface, Douglas found a sort of calmness as regards his wife. When he got home, Douglas took a seat across from Helena at the table. “Let’s talk.”

Helena let out a relieved sigh, offering a cautious smile. For the first time in a long while, the air between them relaxed.

“First of all, I need to know the…details...and I will try to refrain from interrupting or getting unnecessarily angry.”

“…I’m…not really sure how it all started. It’s no secret I’ve been unhappy for a long while…I wasn’t really sure what it was until Ralph. We ran into each other out of class, and at first it was accidental, and then it was on purpose, and then it was as often as we could. You have to know I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.”

“We could…I… I want to work through this. We could see a marriage counselor. Nothing has happened we can’t get past. I still love you…”

“You and I always had chemistry, we always just seemed to…fit. Ralph…we make no sense, and it’s crazy and exciting and wonderful and…I know it sounds awful, and I feel like an awful person for saying it, but…I’ve never felt this way before….I don’t think there’s a marriage left to counsel.”

Douglas swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He loved Helena…Helena loved someone else. Without the anger that had fueled him, all he had left was this feeling of lonely void in his chest. She hadn’t yet brought out the ‘D’ word, but he knew it was coming all the same. His marriage was a sinking ship and there was no one to send out an SOS to. Helena packed a bag and left for her mother’s house for ‘a few days’. It was unclear how many days ‘a few’ were.


	5. Ipswich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, everyone! Because this chapter is on the short side and it's Christmas time, I'm going to be uploading another chapter TOMORROW as your Christmas present! Thank you so much to those who have left me kudos or reviews, it's much appreciated and helps to motivate me to no end. Happy Christmas Eve and thanks sungmee for beta reading!

The sound of a body hitting the hard ground of the fuselage radiated through Douglas’ body with a shock of cold dread. One of his crew, his family, had collapsed, and he could only rule out Arthur with any certainty because he had a hand anchored on his belt loop. Even as he asked about it he reached behind himself, hand making contact with Carolyn’s wrist with some relief.

“It was Skipper! He’s fallen down!” Arthur shouted back to him at the same time that he reached the same conclusion. But….Arthur couldn’t have known it was Martin and not Carolyn, even if he were all there mentally.

“Martin! Are you all right?” Carolyn called out, and he felt her twisting around behind herself to check on the young captain.

“Arthur, how do you know it was Martin?” Douglas ground out, converting his worry into anger as it all fell into place. The conversation fell into the background of his mind as his medical education came roaring back. So many things could have gone wrong, and every horrible thing that could have happened to Martin slammed into him at once.

“Never mind that now. Is Martin all right?” Douglas interrupted, wishing he could see, wishing the space wasn’t so enclosed that he was separated from the younger pilot by the forms of Arthur and Carolyn.

“I think so. My screen’s a bit misted up. I’ll just, er…” Arthur pulled his smoke hood up and began violently coughing, the shock of it causing him to drop his hood. He reached out blindly for it but before he could find it there was another thump as his own body hit the floor with a thump. Douglas knelt down and pulled Arthur up since he was the closer of the two, handing him over to his mother’s care.

“You take him, I’ve got Martin.” The first officer crouched down again and rolled Martin onto his back. He pulled Martin up, their chests pressed together. Martin’s head lolled backward and Douglas put a hand at his nape, his fingers sifting through surprisingly soft ginger curls to support him, tucking him close so his chin rested on Douglas’ shoulder as his other arm hooked under the younger man’s knees to pull him up. Hefting him up, he carried him out of the smoke and went to his knees, gently lowering him. His fingers immediately went to Martin’s wrist, seeking and quickly finding a pulse, strong and healthy if slightly faster than normal, matching the beating of his own heart that thumped wildly in his ears from the adrenaline. A sigh of relief and he dropped the wrist to pull his smoke hood off.

Looking up, Douglas saw Carolyn tending to a befuddled looking Arthur, who seemed to be no worse for the wear. A paramedic rushed over and took control, putting an oxygen mask over Martin’s face and forcing Douglas to shift backwards, only then realizing that he hadn’t removed his other hand from the ginger locks.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Soon enough they were left to their own devices to recover, all given a clean bill of health by the emergency medical services. Carolyn and Arthur had left a few minutes earlier in search of coffee and biscuits, promising to return with some water for Martin as well, while Douglas sat in an uncomfortable chair beside the bench they had laid the prone captain on.

Now that he finally had the time to take it in, he was struck by how peaceful Martin looked in his unconscious state. So often tense and uptight at work, it was nice to see him relaxed, even if it wasn’t the best of circumstances. His lashes rested against his freckled skin, his lips slightly parted, his breathing soft and even. A shock of red hair had fallen over one closed eye and without thinking Douglas reached out and brushed it back, his fingers lingering again in those curls affectionately.

The older pilot blinked a little in surprise, pulling his hand away and staring at his fingertips. Well, this was certainly new. By any definition, Martin wasn’t Douglas’ usual type. Douglas had always had a thing for the graceful and sleek, from his Lexus to his romantic partners, and yet…there was no denying the glimmer of allurement he felt toward the awkward and gangly red head. Douglas settled back in his seat, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. It was nice to feel that warm attraction to another again. With every failed relationship, Douglas worried more and more that the next would be the one to quash his desire for romantic attachment altogether. Since Helena’s confession, he had been loath to get back into the dating pool, not relishing the thought of trying to pull as a middle-aged first officer with three divorces, a child, and a history of alcoholism.  
Douglas decided not to put too much store in the fact that it was Martin who was bringing out these feelings in him again. They were friends and colleagues, nothing more. This was just the first step in the healing process, the ability to consider the possibilities.

He was dragged out of his thoughts as blue eyes blinked open and met his hazel ones, blinking up at him. His lips tugged upward in a grin as he quipped, “Have a nice nap, captain?”

Martin sat up quickly, instantly regretting it if the expression on his face was anything to go by. One hand pressed against the wall behind him for support as he shook off the vertigo from having gone upright too fast. He rubbed the heel of his free hand over his eyes. “What…what happened?”

“When we couldn’t find Adrian the dummy in the fuselage, you decided to volunteer to be the dummy, ironically as a result of Arthur being a dummy….he had hold of your belt.”

“Oh, Skip! You’re up! Brilliant!” Arthur exclaimed as he came in with Carolyn hard on his heels before Martin had a chance to respond. “We brought you some water!” he added brightly, thrusting a paper cup of water into Martin’s hands.

“Thank you, Arthur…” Martin murmured, sipping gently. Douglas glanced sideways at Carolyn, noting the worry in her eyes. Not the worry over Martin and Arthur that had been there before, that had worn off quickly with the presence of the paramedic, but the worry that had crept in to replace it, the worry that this was the end of MJN. She met his gaze and the unspoken words passed between them. There was little doubt in either of their minds that they had failed the SEP.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So what exactly happened?” Dr. Duncan asked when they had all gathered in one of the meeting rooms.

“Yes. What exactly ‘appened? Let’s see if we can piece it together for the good doctor. For starters, how many bodies did you rescue from the fuselage?” Mr. Sargent questioned them in his thick accent, crossing his arms and fixing them with a hard stare.

“Two.” Carolyn replied tersely.

“Two. Which is pretty good going, given that I only put one in there. Carolyn, whose body did you rescue?” Mr. Sargent continued.

“Arthur’s.” Douglas noted the single-word answers, Carolyn must be really trying to hold back.

“Arthur’s,” Mr. Sargent repeated, “And why was Arthur’s body lying in the fuselage?”

“I got a bit smoke-filled.” Arthur said quietly, shrinking a little under Mr. Sargent’s cold gaze.

“Yes, you did. Because in the smoke-filled cabin, in order to see more clearly, you took off your smoke hood. An’ what was you tryin’ to see more clearly?”

“The body I found.” Arthur fidgeted a little.

“The body you found – the body Douglas, in the end, brought out of the fuselage; the body of…” he trailed off leadingly.

“Martin.” Douglas supplied, eyes shooting to look at said man, who went an interesting shade of red. Douglas smirked, watching as it was Martin’s turn to provide answers, the captain sputtering a little with embarrassment, though it was unclear if the embarrassment was born of having collapsed in the first place or because it had been Douglas who had pulled him out of the smoking wreck. His ears perked up when Mr. Sargent said what he had already suspected though, they had failed.

“No! You can’t fail us!” Carolyn exclaimed, horror written on her usually sharp and stoic features.

“I not only can, I ‘ave to. An’ I not only ‘ave to, I want to.” Mr. Sargent responded with no empathy whatsoever.

“Quite right, Mr. Sargent.” Dr. Duncan said quietly, his eyes giving them the sympathy that his colleague was denying them. “Absolutely – though of course you could maybe let them re-take it.”

“I could – at my discretion – allow a re-take if I ‘ad any reason to think they were under an unfair disadvantage…which I don’t.”

“Oh, but we were.” Douglas cut in. He didn’t much care for that expression on Carolyn’s face. They butted heads often enough but she was someone he considered a friend and sort of kindred spirit.

“Oh yes?” Mr. Sargent rounded on him, raising a brow. “And what was that?”

“Arthur was in the lead.”

Mr. Sargent was unaffected by the argument and took his leave, and Douglas wracked his brain to think of a solution, any solution that might bail them out of this. There was no swaying Mr. Sargent, but Dr. Duncan seemed amiable enough…but he was right, Arthur was never going to pass, even with another shot. He glanced around the room, looking for inspiration, and his eyes landed on Martin, and suddenly it all clicked into place. Nineteen. Nineteen passengers. Arthur didn’t need to be in the equation at all.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“I brought you some towels.” Martin called as he poked his head into the locker room where Douglas was just unbuttoning his soaked shirt, having already taken off shoes, socks, and jacket.

“Thank you, Martin.” Douglas replied, tugging the clinging fabric off. His hands paused on his belt buckle when he noticed Martin staring. A shiver ran down his spine as blue eyes trailed over his skin appreciatively, though he couldn’t tell if it was from that or the fact that he was absolutely freezing. Martin’s eyes travelled up to his face and he seemed to break out of whatever his thoughts were. His cheeks flushed and he looked away, holding the towels out at arms distance.

Douglas shivered again and decided yes it was definitely the fact that he was freezing, so he abandoned his belt buckle in favor of nicking a towel from the stack, sighing gratefully as the warmth of the fabric seeped into his skin. He was so caught up in the simple pleasure of getting warm and dry that he almost didn’t catch it when Martin murmured, “Thanks….”

“Thanks?” he echoed, his hazel eyes shifting over to Martin, who was busy counting the floor tiles.

“For carrying me out of the smoke-filled fuselage. I just…thanks.” Martin mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Douglas smiled a little and started briskly rubbing the towel over his hair to dry it. “Any time, captain.”


	6. Johannesburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody! On a quick side note, all directions/mile estimates/travel time estimates for this fic are based on the assumption that Fitton is located somewhere between Coventry and Daventry, which I believe was confirmed by John Finnemore himself though I cannot find the source of that anymore. Thank you all who reviewed, I know I don't always reply because sometimes I don't know what to say or I feel like I'd be bothering you or something (I don't know, don't ask). Even if I don't respond I always read them and they always put a big grin on my face! Shout out to my beta reader sungmee and the next chapter will be Limerick posted in three days!

Douglas dropped to sit on the bed heavily, pointedly ignoring Martin’s gaze as it flickered between him and the aviation magazine he’d been awkwardly pretending to read and not overhearing Douglas’ shouting match with Carolyn on the phone. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted around, mouth set in a tight frown. Martin opened and closed his mouth a few times before actually making a sound, and Douglas almost interrupted what he was sure was going to be an “I’m sorry” before he heard the actual words.

“It’s, um….it’s nice…you wanting to be there for her…” Douglas swallowed the venomous retort on the tip of his tongue and glanced at Martin, who was lying back on his own bed of their shared hotel room staring hard at a picture of a new commercial airliner even though he obviously had his attention on the first officer. Douglas relaxed somewhat. He had planned to hit the road and make the three and a half hour drive to Barrow-in-Furness as soon as they landed in Fitton tomorrow for Emily’s birthday, but Carolyn had just called to drop a last-minute booking on them that would send them in the exact opposite direction.

“…I already told her I’d be there.” Martin took that as a sign he could abandon pretending to peruse his magazine and looked over at him, propping himself up on an elbow.

“How old is she?” he asked curiously, and Douglas was struck again by how little he actually spoke about his home life. He flopped backwards onto the mattress, shifting a little when a spring dug into his back uncomfortably.

“She’s turning ten.” He sighed softly. Soon she’d be old enough that the glamour of her father would fade and she’d see her old man was…well…an old man.

“Good age…” Martin mused, folding his hands together and looking up at the ceiling.

“Mmm, yes, soon she’ll be old enough to resent me, what fun.” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Only Martin brought this out in him, where he relaxed his defenses enough that something got by unchecked. The captain sat up slightly and looked at him in surprise.

“Douglas…”

“Oh, never mind, Martin, I’m tired is all. You know how ‘discussions’ with Carolyn are." Martin didn’t relax back onto the bed, instead his concerned look turned to one of concentration, his brow furrowing.

“What if…I mean…isn’t there anything we could do? To sort of, let her know you’re there but also not there?” He made a frustrated sound and dropped back onto the bed. “Never mind, I know, I’m not making any sense.”

The corners of Douglas’ lips curved up into a smile at that. Martin was incredibly endearing when he wasn’t getting himself all worked up about professionalism.

“It’s a nice thought, Martin, thank you, but I don’t suppo-“ he cut himself off as an idea hit and he sat up. “Actually, why couldn’t we?”

Martin sat up too and tilted his head curiously.

“Why couldn’t we…what?”

“Why couldn’t we be there but not there? We have a plane and all day to make the trip to Paris, we haven’t filed a flight plan yet, it’s perfect!” He expected in a moment Martin would shoot him down but just for the moment he was going to enjoy the idea.

“You want to…fly past her party?”

“Why not? It wouldn’t take but a moment and we could drop a little something, something light like sweets, the kids would love it!” Martin’s face made the rounds through expression after expression before miraculously caving and settling into a thoughtful look.

“I suppose we could…I mean, the weight shouldn’t be too much of an imposition…just a moment.” He took the notepad and pen next to the phone and began scribbling furiously, mumbling numbers under his breath. Douglas smiled to himself, his heart warming seeing Martin setting aside air safety rules and Carolyn’s wrath for his sake, and how adorable he looked chewing his bottom lip a little while working out the maths involved in such an operation.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“What were you thinking?” Carolyn barked the second Douglas and Martin had settled into seats before her desk.

“Look, all we were trying-“ Martin began, and Douglas was slightly surprised that he referred to them as if they were a team, equal in blame, even though it was clearly all his own fault. Carolyn interrupted before Martin could finish the thought.

“Shut up, Martin. Douglas, what were you thinking?”

Douglas rolled his eyes and glared right back at her as he replied, “I just thought, since I had to work on my daughter’s birthday, it would be nice to do a little fly-past of her party on the way.”

“Barrow-in-Furness is not ‘on the way’ to Paris. So first you stole my aircraft-“ It was Douglas’ turn to interrupt.

“I wouldn’t call it ‘stealing’.”

“I paid you to fly three hundred miles south west. You flew it two hundred miles north east. What is that if not stealing?”

“Hijacking, at most.”

Martins’ head had been turning back and forth between them during this exchange, following the conversation and occasionally opening his mouth as if to interject but unable to get a word in edgewise. “Carolyn-“ He finally managed to cut in, but she immediately interrupted again.

“Shut up, Martin.” Martin groaned but slumped back in his seat anyways as she continued railing at Douglas. Bless him, but Martin did try to help him out, though it did little good. As they argued over the damages, Douglas had to admit he was glad Emily’s mother was Maggie and not his first wife. She would have hit the roof. As it was, he had spoken to Maggie on the phone afterwards and while she’d been reasonably upset, she’d calmed down much faster than Carolyn was. She’d always been incredibly understanding and generous about making sure Douglas had every opportunity with Emily that arose despite his fluctuating schedule. He had immense respect for his former wife.

“Look at the trip budget you’ve submitted for Johannesburg next week: fourteen thousand pounds! Are we flying there on the backs of unicorns?” Carolyn finally changed the subject.

“It’s pared to the bone, I promise you! I can’t compromise safety for economy.” Martin said, taking the new topic as a sign he wouldn’t be told to shut up this time.

“That’s rich, coming from the Bomber of Barrow.”

“I’m sorry, Carolyn. It’s just that the captain and myself are deeply unmaterialistic. Our souls are rather beautiful that way, actually.” Douglas leaned back into an exaggerated pose of relaxation and Martin beamed at having been included. A sharky light came into Carolyn’s eyes and she offered them a deal by which they could each make a thousand pounds. How could he refuse?

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas smiled when the fish sizzled on the pan in front of him. It was one of his favorite sounds, that first hiss of heat and food and the promise of a meal to come. He hadn’t cooked like this in quite a while, hadn’t felt the inspiration strike. But now he swung around the kitchen with the finesse of a gourmet chef, humming along with the music he’d turned on to accompany his task before softly adding his deep baritone to Sinatra’s.

“I’ve got you under my skin…I’ve got you deep in the heart of me…So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me…I’ve got you under my skin.” His voice rose in volume as he got caught up in the moment, adding some spices to the pan, “I’d tried so not to give in. I said to my…Helena!” There she was in the doorway, staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

Douglas turned off the music and returned his attention to the cooking. “Go on, then, what’s the look about?”

“You seemed happy…just…wondering who the lucky girl is who put that look back on your face…”

Douglas dropped the wooden spoon and frowned at his wife. “You can’t seriously be telling me you’re jealous.” He said, more bitingly than he’d intended. He hated himself for feeling a pang when tears filled her eyes, for wanting to wrap her up in his arms still. She sniffed once and blinked back the tears, dabbing a finger under one eye to be safe.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry…it’s stupid, why should I…you’re absolutely free to do what you like.” She began to retreat but before she got away Douglas grabbed her hand, pulling her back.

“Wait…what is it you wanted?” he asked, dropping her hand when he was sure she wasn’t going to run away.

“I just thought…maybe we ought to talk about some of the details…how we’re going to split things, who gets the house…I don’t want to interrupt your date, I should have rung first.”

Douglas’ gaze darkened and he squeezed a lemon over the fish with more force than necessary. “Yes, you should have done.” He said irately. He decided not to tell her there was no date. It would serve her right to think about him with someone else, completely over her, not even a blip on his radar despite three years. “I don’t want the house.”

“Nor do I.”

“Then we sell it. You take the furniture you brought and I’ll take the furniture I brought, unless…” He took a breath and braced himself, “you didn’t have sex on any of it, did you?”

Helena was quiet for far too long, shifting nervously from foot to foot before whispering, “Just the bed…”

Douglas’ grip on the handle of the pan tightened and he interrupted her just as she started to speak again. “Please leave.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“This…is excellent, Douglas! Did you really cook it yourself?” Martin looked at Douglas curiously, a smile still on his lips as he tucked another bite of the dish into his mouth. Douglas wasn’t sure anyone had appreciated his cooking that much ever, and it filled him with a pleasantly warm feeling. Perhaps he ought to feed Martin more often.

“I did indeed.”

“Mmm! It’s lovely!”

Douglas couldn’t help but puff his chest up a little at the stroke to his ego. “I’m very good at cooking.”

Martin rolled his eyes at that. “Is there anything you’re not very good at?” Douglas purposely let the silence reign for a moment too long, because of course he was never going to admit that there were some things he was incredibly bad at. “Douglas?”

“I’m thinking. There are things I haven’t tried yet. I suppose it’s possible I’m not very good at some of those – theoretically.”

“Well, this is great.” Martin proclaimed. “Unusual flavour – what is it?”

“Carp.”

Martin’s jaw dropped half an inch. “But…not…”

“When I pay a thousand pounds for a fish, I don’t just throw it in the bin. Now then, when we get to Jo’burg, obviously we can save a lot on hotels.”

“How?”

“By not staying in one.”

“So where will we sleep?”

“Well, I’m a happily married man, so I shall sleep in the plane,” he began, not yet ready to talk about the divorce, especially after the other day, when the slowly healing wounds of her betrayal had been ripped open again, “but you, m’lad, have four hours in hand to get yourself invited to the Johannesburgian bedroom of your choice.”

Martin’s face turned a few shades of red in turn as he awkwardly laughed before his face fell slightly and he muttered, “Yes, I’ll sleep in the plane too.”

Douglas snickered internally but couldn’t deny he was glad he’d have Martin’s company. He rather liked the evenings they spent together in shared hotel rooms when Carolyn wouldn’t spring for singles, because it was then Martin was at his most relaxed. “That uniform’s wasted on you, it really is.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

As it turned out, that night they stayed in a hotel after all, only in Madrid instead of Johannesburg. After all, they’d already lost the bet. As they lay in their respective beds, Douglas had almost drifted off when Martin gave a small content sigh and whispered softly into the darkness, “Douglas?” Douglas stayed still and silent, curious. “It was a lot of fun, all this, like…like real friends.”

Douglas swallowed, heard Martin shift to his side, ready to sleep, and whispered back softly, “We are real friends. Good night, Martin.”

He almost thought Martin had already drifted off before the response came, just as softly, “Good night, Douglas.”


	7. Limerick and Qikiqtarjuaq

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's notes bear two exciting announcements! First, because Qikiqtarjuaq was a very short chapter, I decided to tack it on to Limerick and get it over with (it was horrible to write, too many feels). Second, by popular demand I will be following this fic with a twin fic written from Martin's point of view, featuring Martin's internal dilemmas, scenes Douglas wasn't present for, and lots of Martin backstory fun that would be too much exposition to shove into this one. A very special thank you to my regular reviewers and to my beta reader sungmee, your feedback is loved and appreciated!
> 
> PS: Next chapter is Newcastle and there will FINALLY be some action!

“So – how’s Helena?” Douglas wasn’t sure what words he’d dreaded more than those two.

“What do you mean? What are you getting at?” Wow, he sounded defensive even to himself. The boredom must have actually cracked his natural blasé.

Martin looked like he wasn’t sure he should respond to that for a moment before speaking tentatively, “I’m…asking after the health of your wife.”

“Oh yes? As preparation for a crack about her thinking…what she thinks?” he frowned, and he wasn’t really sure what was bringing this out in him except that this week had been all meetings and calls with his attorney, who he was honestly considering sacking because he’d handled the first two divorces and wouldn’t stop making cracks about it, and though one day he was sure he’d find it funny at the moment Douglas only found it depressing and keeping up the appearance of good humor was beginning to wear on him.

“No – as a way of finding out how she is.” Martin was now giving him a concerned look, and he hated that. He was so sick of the concern and the sympathy and the pity that poured out from Emily’s mother, and his brother, and family friends, and everyone else. Couldn’t he have anyone who just treated him like normal and let him forget the whole wretched business?

“She’s fine.” He snapped tersely.

Martin sat back an inch but didn’t stop looking at him with worry in the ocean blue depths of his eyes. “Good…Why are you suddenly so…?”

“I’m not suddenly anything.” Douglas reigned himself back and decided they needed the change the subject before Carolyn or Arthur came back in and the flight deck turned into an interrogation followed by an outpouring of sympathy. “Anyway, how’s your…?”

“My what?” Martin blinked, the concern giving way to a questioning look.

Douglas decided not to say girlfriend in case his suspicions about Martin’s sexuality were correct. “I don’t know. There must be someone by now, no?”

Martin huffed out a breath and let his shoulders drop a bit. “No. Still no.”

“Oh Martin! You’re a young single airline captain. How difficult can it be?” He admonished.

“Really, really difficult.”

“Well, what about cabin crew?”

“Mmm, well, for two very different reasons, I’m afraid neither Arthur nor Carolyn quite float my boat.” Douglas wondered if he would have been on that list if Martin knew his actual marital situation.

“Not our cabin crew – everybody else’s. All those gorgeous stewardesses down route.” And stewards, but he decided not to mention them.

“Actually, I think the whole ‘hosties are easy’ thing is a bit of a sexist male fantasy.” Douglas smirked at that.

“No it’s not.”

“Oh, right. You pull stewardesses all the time, then, do you?”

“Certainly not, I’m a happily married man.” If he only knew…

“Yes, right, but you have done.”

“More than you can possibly imagine.”

“Well that’s not true for a start. I can imagine a thousand stewardesses.” If he only knew…

“And your point is…?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Martin, have you thought about internet dating?” Douglas asked curiously. He’d been bouncing around the idea himself a bit, and was curious if Martin had any stories that would tip him either way in the decision of whether to actually try it. He didn’t much care for the idea of trying to go out and meet girls in bars and other singles’ locales.

“Douglas!” Martin growled at him, giving him a panicky look.

“What? There’s no stigma to it these days.”

“Douglas! Carolyn’s here!” Martin had gone red and was hiding in his hands now and Douglas blinked, that hadn’t even really occurred to him as an issue.

“Oh, we’re all friends here! You should try it.”

Martin slowly came out from behind his hands and gave Carolyn a look as if he were still deciding if she was going to poke fun at him before admitting, “Well, I had a look at a site once, but you have to go on and on about your hobbies and outside interests and…you know…”

“Yes. Not your strong suit.”

“Anyway, I don’t want all the weight of expectation. I just want to find a nice, natural, low-stakes way to meet people.” And all Douglas could think was, God, me too. Martin was miles ahead of where he’d been at his age.

“I find walking the dog works rather well.” Carolyn interjected, and everything went silent. It had never even occurred to Douglas that Carolyn dated, or thought about dating. She’d always been very asexual in his mind, and Arthur never said anything about his mother going out. “Oh, hello. I’ve finally found the flight deck mute button, have I? Any particular reason it should be so surprising that I might be interested in meeting someone, too?”

The two men simultaneously denied it though both of them were thinking it, and Carolyn allowed them a brief glimpse into her personal life before leaving them in a rush. Douglas wondered if it was some strange power Martin had to bring down the defenses of the two of them. There was just something about how genuine he was without being childish like Arthur that put him at ease, and whatever it was seemed to work on Carolyn, too, if that display was anything to go by. After all, he’d known her since nearly the start of MJN and never once seen that.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas, look! At last! The sun’s almost gone again!”

“Oh, yes, there it goes. Come on, you big red sod – set, damn you!”

“There it goes. Come on, come on!”

“Tell you what: descending fifty feet.” Douglas took control of the steering column in front of him and carefully tipped it just slightly. “And…gone.” They both sighed in relief.

“That’s better. Oh, isn’t it lovely and dark?” Martin smiled and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes briefly and enjoying the moment.

“Mmm. The sun has taken his hat off. Hip hip hip hooray.” He leaned back as well, folding his hands in front of him.

“He’s taken off his hat at last and gone a-bloody-way. Shall I put the lights on?” Martin looked loath to get up, both of them comfortable as is.

“No.” Douglas smiled a little, thinking of the most recent aviation magazine he’d seen Martin clinging to, which had featured a rather impressive fighter jet on the cover. “Let’s keep the flight deck dark for a while, like a fighter plane.”

Martin perked up at the idea, resting his hands on the steering column as he no doubt envisioned himself piloting one of those sleek beasts. “Yeah!”

The older pilot smiled a little and shook his head. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think you should give one of those dating sites a go. You can always make up a hobby.”

Martin sat back again and stared out the window, relaxed and comfortable. “Yeah, but even if I did meet someone, where would I take them? They’d expect an airline captain to be able to wine and dine them, and I’m always broke because…well, you know why.”

“You don’t have to tell them you’re an airline captain…Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Martin had given him a look that said ‘bloody duh’. The first officer made an uncomfortable face before asking, “Does Carolyn really not pay you anything?”

“No, nothing.” Martin looked down at his hands.

Douglas hesitated. He hated talking about money matters in general, and this time even more so because it was Martin, and he valued their friendship, and money always complicated things, and what if it wasn’t something Martin wanted to share with him and the rest of the fourteen hour flight was filled with that awkward silence. But something compelled him and he had to know, “So, how do you get by?”

“I have another job that I fit in around the trips.” Well, at least it seemed Martin didn’t mind discussing it.

“Yes?”

The younger man sighed and took his hat, fiddling around with it. “I…am…a man.” He said slowly.

“Yes, all right, Martin. You’re not in an Arthur Miller play.”

“Let me finish!” blue eyes clashed with his hazel ones briefly before returning to the hat in his hands as he turned it around and around. “I am a man…with a van.”

Douglas could not for the life of him picture what that might look like. “Ah.”

“People call me up and I go round in my van and move their stuff for them.” Martin chanced a look up at Douglas, who tried to look as reassuring as he could. Now that he thought about it, he should have guessed. He’d seen Martin’s van that first day, though he couldn’t remember seeing it again after.

“I see. Where did you get a van?”

“When my dad died, he left me his van.”

This conversation had just gotten that much more tense at the mention of his father. The captain didn’t talk about it much, and Douglas hadn’t really pressed for information about his family because he didn’t like when people pried into his either. “That’s nice…isn’t it?”

“Well, he didn’t leave me any money.” Martin blurted before apparently realizing how that sounded and pressing on quickly. “I mean, I didn’t want his money but he didn’t leave me any. Simon and Caitlin got five grand each, but I didn’t…” Douglas hated seeing the hurt in those blue depths. Left out of the secret clubs at school, left out by his dad, no wonder Martin had enjoyed Jo-burg so much even after it cost them both a grand, he’d finally been included. Martin kept on, the story spilling from him like a dam had broken, and Douglas was quiet, letting him pour it out. “And it’s…it’s not your fault, but it doesn’t help that I sit next to you with your perfect life and your happy marriage and your salary and the…well, frankly, in any figures at all, it doesn’t help.” The ginger man let out a shuddering breath, but despite the words Douglas got the sense that he felt a little better after the outburst.

“Not a perfect life, perhaps.” Douglas said softly, and Martin looked at him in confusion. “After all, I’m sitting next to you.”

Martin shot him a hurt look. “Oh, thank you! Thank you for those few kind words of sympathy!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I’m not at Air England anymore. I’m here. And, you know some things about my life. You know about Helena thinking I’m the captain.”

“Yes. Why did you tell her that?”

“I didn’t tell her. She just assumed I was. People tend to do that. Don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“Yes, I have!”

“And I just failed to correct her.”

Martin settled back in his seat a little and glanced at Douglas. “Well, for what it’s worth, I really think you ought to tell her. I mean, she loves you. She’s not gonna care, you know, whether you’re a captain or not.”

Douglas felt those words like a stab to his heart. Oh, Martin…he really did have the best opinion of people, except for maybe Arthur. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes. I have told her now, actually.”

“Oh, right!” Martin stared at him expectantly.

“Yes. Quite soon after you came over that day.” Douglas refused to meet that gaze, to see the moment those eyes filled with pity for him, so he stared out the window at the growing darkness.

“Right. And how did she take it?”

“Really well…very well. You were quite right. She didn’t mind at all. Not at all. She was glad I told her.” And for that briefest of moments he had thought everything would be alright. He had thought they could fix their marriage. He had thought he could fix their marriage.

“Right! Great! Oh, that’s wonderful! God…I thought from the way you were saying it, she’d hit the roof.” Martin offered him a small smile he caught from the corner of his eye, but he kept his eyes trained on the view outside and his voice impassive.

“No.”

“Good!”

“Very calm.”

“And…wasn’t I right? Don’t you feel it’s a huge weight off your back?”

Douglas took a deep breath. “Yes and no.”

“And no?” the captain’s brow furrowed.

“What she actually said was, she was pleased I’d told her my secret because it made it easier for her to tell me hers.”

“Oh.”

Douglas forced his eyes back into the flight deck and shifted, gesturing with his hands as he spoke and trying to project the most unaffected air he could. “Hers was the more conventional sort. If I had to criticize, I must say it lacked the verve and originality of mine. I mean, ‘Darling, I’ve been lying to you about the precise rank I hold in a small charter airline’ – I flatter myself that’s not a confession often made. ‘Darling, I’ve been having an affair with my Tai Chi teacher’ – bit more run of the mill.”

Martin’s face fell further and he repeated, “Oh.”

“I mean, fair enough: points for Tai Chi teacher rather than tennis coach or dancing instructor, but basically familiar territory.”

“Oh.” It was clear Martin wasn’t sure what else to say at this point. Douglas hummed in response. “I’m so sorry.” There it was, now Martin had joined the ranks of the sympathetic. Douglas pulled himself together and forced himself to say thank you, and waited for the usual offer of if-you-need-anything-at-all, but it never came. What did come was entirely unexpected. “Oh God, if only I hadn’t come round that night.”

Douglas sat forward and looked at Martin in astonishment. Was he seriously blaming himself for Helena having sex with another man? He could almost laugh at that. “Oh, no, don’t be silly. You didn’t tell her, after all. No, I..” He almost let a snort of laughter out but managed to swallow it, “I don’t blame you. I blame the Chinese.”

“What for?” a smile tugged at Martin’s lips and Douglas couldn’t appreciate the shift in atmosphere more. It had gotten entirely too heavy in the flight deck.

“Tai Chi.”

“I think that was the Japanese.”

“I bet you a fiver it was the Chinese.”

“You’re on!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

After Arthur and Carolyn left the flight deck again and they were both tucking into their sandwiches in comfortable silence, Douglas had an idea.

“Martin?”

The captain looked over at him curiously as he took another bite of his sandwich.

“Could I hire you and your van? We’re going to sell the house, so I’ll be moving out soon.”

Martin narrowed his eyes suspiciously for a moment, swallowing his bite before replying, “And you’re not just saying this out of pity?”

Douglas let a single snort of laughter escape. “I think the last thing either of us wants is pity, and I’m sure that’s all I’ll get out of my brother if I ask him to help out.”

Martin relaxed, smiling back at Douglas. “Just let me know when.”  
   
[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello, Martin, come on in.” Douglas opened the door wide. Martin rubbed his gloved hands together a few times and shifted from foot to foot to shake off the cold.

“Morning, Douglas.”

The first officer set about pulling on his coat and gloves before leading the way out of the hall and into the living room, where several boxes were stacked.

“Anything labeled ‘Douglas’ goes, as well as this couch and the bookshelf there. I put the fragile ones in the corner so they go last. On three, then?” Douglas bent down and took hold of the bottom of his side of the couch and the two of them hefted it up together, maneuvering it out to Martin’s waiting van. The next two hours were spent in companionable enough silence, broken by the occasional direction from one or the other of them. They were almost finished when Douglas declared he’d get them something hot to drink before finishing up, leaving Martin in the mostly empty living room on his own.

The older man had to admit Martin was a lot tougher than he looked. As he set about making hot chocolate with the meager remnants of the kitchen – he’d thought ahead and figured they’d need something to warm up during the moving process – he decided Martin must be hiding some well-formed muscles under his uniform and, presently, his coat. A shudder ran through him and he shook off the thought before it took him to dangerous places.

Douglas paused just inside the doorway when he heard the soft murmur of voices coming from the other room, and his grip tightened slightly on the mugs in his hands. Steeling himself for the inevitable, he stepped in, where Helena was conversing with a very uncomfortable looking Martin, her hand lightly resting on his elbow. A spike of jealousy shot through him when his eyes locked on the point of contact and he scowled.

“Ah! Douglas!” The captain looked relieved to see Douglas and sidestepped past Helena to join his copilot and take one of the mugs off him.

“Oh, Douglas…I was just getting reacquainted with the captain…” Helena said with mock innocence. She knew full well she wasn’t supposed to be here today. Over the past few weeks she’d gone from remorseful to peevish as they argued over some of the finer details of the financial split.

“Really? I thought you were doing a lovely impression of your mother, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and isn’t wanted.” Douglas always knew what to say to really break people down to their core. It was a skill he tried not to use very often because later he would feel bad, but sometimes when conditions were just so and someone snapped that last thread of self-control he’d unleash that ammunition. Helena looked a little stricken as tears filled her eyes, then she summoned up all her rage and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

A moment later the door opened again and she hissed venomously, “I lied, we had sex on the couch, have fun sleeping on it tonight, first officer!” The door slammed again and Martin flinched. Silence reigned for a moment.

“Martin, would you help me get the couch out of your van so I can burn it?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

A tinkling peel of laughter raced down Douglas’ spine and he returned it with his most charming Richardson smile. A smile that vanished when the laugh faded off and the beautiful young thing beside him said, “Oh, God, you were serious?”

His heart sank in his chest. The divorce had finalized two days ago, ending the hellish year that had passed since Helena’s confession. A year of fighting and aching and slowly, slowly healing…and mostly a year of loneliness. Here they were in New York City, far away from all things Helena, and he’d finally given in to the need for companionship…only to be laughed at.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…you’re so old…”

“My apologies, it’s just that your breast implants said ‘daddy issues’ and the length of your skirt said ‘open for business’” he retorted snarkily, earning himself a drink thrown in his face. He returned to his hotel room, glad he didn’t have to share this time and could clean himself off in peace. He knew he really needed to get a handle on his sharp tongue, which had been getting away from him with more and more frequency lately.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Of course, you know what the actual definition of a professional is, don’t you?” A sleepless night, an extra flight, a third divorce, a harsh rejection at the bar last night and more sexual tension than he knew what to do with had turned him into a monster and nothing could stop him now. He saw the moment Martin realized that self-same truth, trying to backpedal, but it was too late.

“I’m just…”

“What actually separates professionals from amateurs.” Don’t do it. Stop.

“I…”

“It’s being paid to do the job – the way Carolyn pays me. And doesn’t pay you.” Too much. Too far. Why did he let those words leave his mouth? Why had he unleashed his disturbing gift on Martin, of all people? The silence could have been cut with a knife.

“Pre-take-off checklist, please.” Martin said softly, but Douglas saw the damage his words had wrought.

“Certainly, Captain.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

He couldn’t stop himself. This was like a train wreck, horrible and unstoppable and devastating, and the longer it went on the worse it got.

“Look, Douglas, let’s just stop fighting.” He wished he knew how.

“That’s easy for you to say. You started it.” What was he, five?

“Yes, all right, and now I want to finish it.”

“But it hasn’t occurred to you, for instance, to say ‘sorry’.”

“I’m…sorry. I’m sorry I called you unprofessional.” Douglas wondered how apologizing seemed to come so naturally to Martin, the words always went sour in Douglas’ throat when he tried to say them. He recalled when the captain asked him if there was anything he wasn’t very good at. Well, here it was.

“Thank you.” Why couldn’t he just say the words back? I’m sorry. It sounded so easy when Martin did it. The younger man relaxed a fraction.

“So we’re quits?”

“Nearly. Maybe if…” Douglas had no idea what he was doing anymore. He honestly hated himself a bit. This was an utterly idiotic idea. Why, why, why was he torturing Martin? Why was he torturing himself for that matter?

Things went from bad to worse. Somehow, on that flight, everything finally hit Douglas. It was overwhelming and he didn’t know what to do. He’d gone mad, he’d gone suicidal! He was drowning and had no idea how to pull himself back to the surface.

And then, in all the haze, Martin suddenly got through. “Douglas, please, please stop!” The captain took hold of his arm, tugging enough to drag him back to reality without jerking the control column and actually sending them into the ground. And oh, the ground was close, so close. He’d come so close to that edge…Douglas swallowed and tried not to let it show how shaken he was by himself, covering by making light of the situation.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Fifteen minutes passed in complete silence after Carolyn left the flight deck, shooting Douglas a look that said she wasn’t sure she should leave him alone again. “…Martin?”

“Don’t…d-don’t…” the captain’s voice wavered a little, his grip on the steering column tightening, and it was then Douglas noticed the barely perceptible quivering of the ginger man’s shoulders. Suddenly, the words seemed easy to say.

“I’m sorry…God, I’m sorry…” He rubbed a hand over his face. Martin glanced at him and let his shoulders drop a fraction of an inch.

“That…it wasn’t about the fight, was it?” It was a statement, not a question, so Douglas stayed silent. “You scared me to death, Douglas. What would you have done if…if I hadn’t…are you alright?”

Douglas swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t know…”

“Do you…want to talk about it?”

“Not really…”

“Will you…will you promise to tell me if you start to…get that bad again?” Douglas appreciated Martin’s careful choice of words, and the fact he hadn’t used the word ‘nutter’. He nodded a little and Martin relaxed a little more. Another ten minutes passed in silence.

“…Just so you know, you are professional, Martin. Absolutely. And I know you want everyone to think so and tell you so, but just remember you don’t need them to. You are regardless.”

“Thank you, Douglas…pre-landing checklist?”

“Of course, captain.”

Douglas stayed in his seat after they landed, still recovering from the ordeal. When he finally got up, he paused at the flight deck door, listening to the voices just outside. Or, to be more specific, Martin’s voice just outside, his tone full of passion and confidence. Douglas smiled to himself when he got close enough to make out the words.

“I am absolutely a professional, and I don’t need you to tell me so.”


	8. Newcastle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you made it! You actually stuck around, and from here on out it gets really shippy and good and I promise lots of non-canon original scenes that will make you laugh and cry in turn. Next chapter will be posted on the 3rd, Ottery St. Mary! Thank you all so much for your continued interest and readership and thank you sungmee my beta reader!

“Hi, Skip! You’re looking very well.” Arthur exclaimed cheerily, pleased that both pilots looked to be in good health and not likely to be calling in sick anytime soon.

“Oh. Thank you, Arthur.” Martin blinked, self-consciously straightening his uniform a little.

“Don’t you think, Douglas?”

Douglas looked at Martin. It had been a few months since their mishap over the Arctic, and as time went on Douglas found it harder and harder to ignore those warm feelings that had first made themselves known in the SEP testing center. He’d tried his best not to dwell on it, not quite ready to really evaluate what it meant. Remembering that he was meant to give a response, he tilted his head a little and said as nonchalantly as he could, “Not specially. I think he looks exactly the same as always.” And he always looked good.

Carolyn rolled her eyes at them. “If you’ve got time to admire one another you’ve got time to get some work done. Douglas, go do the walk-round, Arthur, tea, Martin, flight plan. Go on, shoo!”

Douglas sauntered off at his own pace to do her bidding, returning to the portacabin afterwards to find Martin on his own at the computer. “Hullo, Martin. Are the pilots here yet?”

“We’re the pilots, Douglas.”

“Yes, but the proper pilots.”

Martin looked like he wanted to argue about that but decided against it in the end. “Not yet, no.”

The printer halted its stuttering whir and spat out a page. “Ah, is that the flight plan?”

“No, it’s mine. Leave it.” Martin said a little too quickly.

Douglas’ interest piqued and he snatched it out before Martin could stop him, ready to tease Martin for whatever personal thing he’d printed out that he didn’t want Douglas seeing. “Oh, Martin. Please don’t tell me you’ve written a slim volume of verse!” He looked down at the paper in his hand and his heart sank, his chest tightening slightly. “Oh. A c.v.”

Martin wanted to leave. Martin wanted to leave. Martin wanted to leave. Douglas gritted his teeth as an unjustified level of anger and betrayal surged. It felt incredibly similar to learning Helena had cheated on him. “Goodness,” he began, thrusting the paper at Martin with a little more force than necessary, “Feeling the call of the Highlands, are we? Fancy ourselves in tartan epaulettes and a flying kilt?”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to advance one’s career.” Martin rebutted somewhat defensively. Douglas had to fight down the urge to yell at him, to tell him this wasn’t the bottom of the barrel, that MJN wasn’t just a waiting room for something better, that Martin would never find a first officer like him again, not if he flew for the bloody queen. He didn’t say that.

“Not at all! So, what’s the plan? Fly them to Newcastle with such panache and elan that the captain feels compelled to recommend you to their Chief McPilot?” Martin looked a little unnerved but as usual his response to being bullied was to raise his hackles and put up a fight.

“Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if the captain and I should happen to hit it off, you never know.”

“You never do. What flight time do you have from Fitton to Newcastle?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

“Hmm. Let’s hope he’s the sort who makes friends quickly.” Douglas smirked rather smugly.

“All right, look sharp. The pilots are here.” Carolyn interrupted them as she burst through the doors in her usual manner, all business and no games.

“We are the pilots.” Martin said with exasperation.

“I mean the proper pilots.”

“Could everyone please stop calling them that?!” Martin snapped, waving his hands around c.v. in hand to emphasize his frustration. Douglas was about to make a snarky remark back when the door opened behind him and he recognized the newcomer before he’d even turned around as a pleasantly smooth voice spoke.

“Good morning. MJN Air?”

“Herc!” Douglas exclaimed as he turned, shooting Martin a smug grin before taking in how the other man had changed in the decade since they’d last met. A fellow captain at Air England, they’d been good friends for some time before Douglas had been sacked for smuggling. He’d even attended the other man’s wedding.

“Douglas!” The two men immediately dove into an old rugby chant and gave each other man hugs, to which Carolyn rolled her eyes and Martin muttered ‘Oh, terrific.’

“How the devil are you? Not seen you since…well, well, for a long time.” Herc had the good sense not to give the details of their last meeting. It was one Douglas himself had tried very hard to forget…what few parts of it he remembered to begin with. It had been one of the lowest points in his life and he’d been finding his relief at the bottom of a bottle, not so very long after losing his job. “But haven’t you done well for yourself? I see from your uniform you’ve become a Bolivian tank commander.”

“Yes, it’s an exuberant little number, isn’t it? And you’re a Scotsman now, are you?” he teased back, falling back into that rhythm they’d had when they’d flown together once upon a time.

“Ah, you don’t have to be Scottish to fly for a Scottish airline, you know?” Herc responded, always quick on the money and never one to be wound up like Martin.

“Don’t you? That’s interesting, isn’t it, Martin?” Douglas turned his attention to the shorter man, who was frowning at the floor with his arms crossed. “Oh, Martin, this is Captain Herc Shipwright, old friend of mine from Air England.”

“Yes, I thought he might be.” Martin grudgingly lost the frown and shook Herc’s hand but still looked put out and almost as if he was expecting Herc to start in on him the way Douglas was and was bracing himself for it.

“Martin, pleasure. Hope this lazy old sod doesn’t work you too hard.”

“Not really, no. I’m the captain.” Martin said tightly between clenched teeth. Herc drew back a few inches, his eyes immediately drawn to their epaulettes.

“Oh, gosh, so you are. Terribly sorry.” He turned to Douglas with a grin, ready to use this new ammunition to poke some light-hearted fun at him. “So, Douglas, does that mean you’re-“

“And this is Carolyn.” Douglas interrupted, making it clear that particular nugget of information was off-limits in their jests. Herc either took the hint or was simply too distracted by Carolyn to get back to it, and he followed Carolyn into her office after introducing them to his first officer…and Douglas suddenly had a plan.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“You’re sure it’s Herc you want to speak to?” Douglas said as soon as Arthur was out of earshot. If he could split Martin’s attention, he was certain he could sabotage his chances of getting his c.v. into Herc’s hands. And yes, he should feel guilty, but he wasn’t ready to take another loss after last year.

“What do you mean?”

“Not First Officer Linda, the plane-spotting pride of Penicuik?”

“Well, she can’t recommend me, can she? She’s only my age; she’s hardly going to know the Chief Pilot.” Douglas wished he didn’t find it so endearing how thick Martin was sometimes.

“She is about your age, yes, and rather nice, I thought.” He could see the exact moment Martin caught on to his meaning.

“Why, d’you think…d’you think she…” his cheeks flushed and he looked suddenly extremely nervous.

“So, by the time we land in Newcastle, you’d ideally like a job recommendation from one of our passengers and a date from the other.”

“That’s not really feasible, is it?” Martin frowned a little.

“It’s an ambitious programme, certainly.” Having planted the seed of the idea in Martin’s mind, Douglas sat back to watch it grow.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Right. Okay, I think I’ve decided. I’m going to concentrate on getting Herc alone and giving him my c.v.” Damn.

“Awwww.”

“What? D’you think that’s the wrong decision?” Martin asked with concern, always ready to second-guess himself.

“No, I think it’s probably the right one. I’m just an old romantic.” For a brief, wild instant, the thought crossed his mind to get Herc alone and ask him to disregard Martin’s c.v. The thought gave him pause and he realized exactly how insane he sounded. Was he seriously trying to sabotage Martin? Martin who wasn’t paid, Martin who genuinely cared about him, Martin who was his best friend, Martin who…who he loved. He did. He loved that boy. He sighed and sat back in his seat, letting the conversation fade into white noise.  


How had it come to this? When had Martin taken up that space in his heart? He couldn’t pinpoint any specific moment…it had been gradual, building up to a crescendo that could no longer be ignored or brushed off….but how was he going to survive the blow when Martin moved on to bigger and better things?

Well…He was Douglas Richardson, he just needed a plan.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Newcastle. I do apologize for our delay today and I hope you’ve nonetheless enjoyed your flight. And could First Officer Fairbairn step into the flight deck for a moment?”

“Oooh! You’re going to ask her?” Douglas grinned.

“Yes.” Martin put his nose up a little, a move he often did when he was trying to convince himself that Douglas wasn’t going to get to him.

“For a date, or to take your c.v.?”

“None of your business.”

“Fair enough. Well, good luck.” Maybe this hadn’t been a good plan after all. Linda seemed to get on alright with Martin…what if he asked her out and she accepted? What if they started dating? What if he had to hear all about their blooming romance, and then one day Martin would leave to go fly with her instead, and then eventually he’d receive an invitation to their wedding with a joking ‘hope you meet the fourth Mrs. Richardson!’

“Were you planning to just sit there? I mean, I can ask Arthur to get you some popcorn.”

“Right. No.” Douglas slipped out, passing Linda on the way, and…gosh she was kind of pretty, wasn’t she? He’d thought she was rather homely at first, but didn’t she have that damned girl next door look…Martin probably loved that.

“Hello, Douglas. What on earth was that about?” Herc caught him as he entered the cabin, glancing curiously past him to the flight deck door.

“Oh, just…do you know if Linda is seeing anyone?” Herc tilted his head, looking at Douglas assessingly.

“Robbing the cradle now are we?” Douglas forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow to his ears.

“No, no, not for me…Martin was just going to…”

“Ah. Playing the wingman?” Herc smiled fondly, no doubt remembering the times they used to go out on the pull together. “Bit late to be asking for intel now, isn’t it?”

“Right. Yes, I suppose it is…so she’s got a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t believe so…lucky Martin, huh?”

“Yes…lucky…” Douglas murmured. Arthur ducked his head in from outside.

“Sorry, chaps, mum wanted me to tell Herc she’s got the paperwork inside when he’s ready…and also to tell him that when he’s ready is now, so now…”

“Yes, thank you Arthur.” Herc waved him off and Arthur dodged out again.

“Well, cheerio, Douglas. Jolly good to see you.” Herc smiled and shook his hand.

“Yes, and you.”

“Hope to bump into you again soon.” Suddenly, Douglas had an idea. If he left first, it wouldn’t hurt so much when Martin left. If he left first, he’d never have to endure Martin falling in love with someone who wasn’t him, being with someone who wasn’t him, flying with someone who wasn’t him.

“Well, funny you should say that. I was rather toying with the idea of, er, well, stretching my wings a little.”

“Oh?” Herc looked at him thoughtfully.

“Yes. I wondered if it was time to be thinking about a move to a slightly bigger airline with aeroplanes in the plural. I mean, even Caledonian mightn’t be a bad…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Really?”

“Goodness me, no, no. No, you’d find it deadly dull after all the excitement of charter life, nipping round the world like a sports car rather than lumbering about in a big old bus like us poor chaps. No, I envy you.”

“But if – hypothetically – I were to ask…” Douglas stiffened, meeting Herc’s eyes suspiciously, his mind flashing back to the last time he’d seen Herc all those years ago. Surely he didn’t think…he wasn’t actually saying that he was going to hold that against him now? He had worked so hard to drag himself up from there, spent so long fighting to get his life back in order.

“Ah, but you wouldn’t ask, would you?” The writing between the lines was very clear.

“No,” Douglas said grimly, “As you say, I’m very happy where I am.” Resentment welled up in him as he pushed past him and left the plane, and he never saw the knowing look Herc passed between his retreating form and the flight deck door.

[][][][][][][][][][]

A week later, Douglas was just settling into a fourth chapter of his book when his mobile rang. He smiled inwardly as he recognized Snoopy Vs. the Red Baron, a ringtone he’d chosen expressly for his Charlie Brown-esque captain. It wasn’t often Martin called outside of business hours, let alone at nearly midnight.

“Hello, Martin.”

“I’m the captain!” Martin shouted loudly from the other end, obviously drunk off his arse.

“Good God, Martin, are you making house calls about it now?”

“And you…you’re…you’re the first officer!” the redhead slurred.

“I had surmised as much from the two years we’ve been flying together, captain.”

“As first officer, you have to…have to come flyyyy with me….fly, fly my van!” Martin half-sang, reminding Douglas that Martin liked to sing when he was tipsy, and also that his voice was quite pleasant.

“Well, that’s certainly an interesting goal to say the least…where are you?”

After about fifteen minutes of wrestling an address out of his inebriated commanding officer and another half hour drive to get there, Douglas found Martin at a bar whose patrons tended to be the younger crowd, making Martin and himself stick out like a sore thumb. As soon as he caught sight of the older man, Martin smiled goofily and abandoned the bar he’d been draped across in favor of throwing both arms around Douglas.

“Douglas! You’re here!” he exclaimed as Douglas adjusted his stance to accommodate the unexpected weight. “This, this is Douglas, but I’m the captain!” the shorter man informed the bartender, who gave Douglas a longsuffering look.

“Why don’t we get you home to sleep this off, captain?” Douglas suggested, nudging Martin in the direction of the door.

“Tha…That’s so nice….you take care of me. You…you’re brilliant!” Douglas smiled to himself and helped Martin across the street to his Lexus, making sure they both got buckled in properly. Pausing for a moment, he considered his options. He’d never been to Martin’s home before…the taxi always picked him up second and he didn’t relish another round of trying to get coherent directions out of him. Besides, there was a strong possibility he’d take a tumble down some stairs if left to his own devices in his current state.  
“Martin, would you like to go to mine?” he asked, nervous butterflies fluttering in his stomach for a moment. Martin laughed and for a brief moment Douglas flashed back to New York, to the tinkling laughter that had come in response to a similar question.

“That…that is VERY forward, Douglas Richardson!” Martin slurred loudly before bursting out laughing again, and it was then Douglas saw how red his face had gotten and recognized the nervous edge to his laughter. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that as he shifted the car into gear and pulled out onto the empty road.

“So,” he began jovially, “what possessed you to go out drinking tonight, captain?”

“Final exams are over.” Martin replied happily.

“Ah. And when did you enroll in school exactly?” Martin snickered and wiggled around in his seat.

“The-the students that live in my building…they’re very good at…” he trailed off and seemed to lose track of the thought. “You have the…the most beautiful eyes…” he smiled dreamily. Douglas blinked in surprise, his brows furrowing as he wondered if….could Martin possibly be…was Martin hitting on him? Before he could decide one way or the other, the other man’s attention had wandered outside, craning his neck to see the sky through the window and murmuring something about planes.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Alright, Martin, in here, let’s get those shoes off.” Douglas sat Martin on the guest bed, watching him fumble with one shoe for a moment before helping him out, placing them neatly at the foot of the bed. He was just about to leave him to sleep it off when his balance was taken away as Martin dragged him down with surprising strength. He landed on the other man in a tangle of limbs and barely had time to process that before Martin’s hands were on his jaw, pulling him in, and their lips met haphazardly for a brief instant, the kiss over before it even began.

“I always wanted to do that.” Martin announced drunkenly.

“Do you…want to do it again?” Douglas asked, breathless, his heart beating like a drum. In response, Martin dragged him down into another kiss. Douglas sank into the feeling of Martin’s lips soft and just slightly chapped against his own, tasting faintly of cheap lager, and God it was everything he’d ever dreamed. He tilted his head more, pressing back firmly, his hand finding the line of Martin’s jaw and tracing it back past his ear to his ginger curls. Martin moaned softly underneath him, hands clutching at his shirt. Douglas slowly opened his eyes again as he pulled back, gently ending the kiss, and Martin smiled dopily at him.

“Just like flying…” the captain murmured, his eyelids drooping sleepily. Douglas pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Go to sleep, now.” But when he tried to pull away, he found Martin had somehow wrapped around him like an octopus, with no sign of letting him loose anytime soon. Martin’s hold on his shirt tightened slightly, keeping him from making his exit, and he looked down into those cosmic blue eyes questioningly.

“Stay with me.” Martin pleaded, burying his face against Douglas’ chest, and Douglas smiled softly.

“Alright.” A little shifting and they were soon positioned comfortably under the blankets, his shoes kicked off the side. He let a hand lightly play with Martin’s hair, earning a content sigh from the younger man.

“Douglas?” Martin murmured, half-asleep already. The first officer hummed lightly in response. “Say stuff. Your voice…it’s really…really nice.”

Douglas smiled, reminded of Emily at bedtime. She was starting to get a little old for bedtime stories, and he suspected she only asked for his sake. It was one thing they’d always shared despite the distance. He reached over to get the book from the night stand. “Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders…”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Oh God!” Douglas was tugged back to consciousness by volume that really ought to be banned during the morning hours, he thought murderously.

“Five more minutes, dear.” He grumbled through his sleep-addled haze, pulling the pillow over his ear. But then the warmth beside him vanished and he peaked out from under the pillow, blinking blearily at…Martin? Last night came roaring back and he sat up, trying to process what was going on and scrubbing a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

Martin didn’t answer the question, or at least Douglas didn’t think he had, as he was talking at twice the normal human speed, which the first officer decided should also be banned in the AM hours. He blinked several times at Martin but still couldn’t make out a word. He did, however, understand the meaning of him frantically pulling on his shoes.

“Wait, Martin, hold on.” Douglas scrambled forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him back.

“I should never have gone out drinking. I knew I shouldn’t, but they’d never asked me before and it was just nice to be invited along and oh God, I can’t believe how bloody stupid I a-“ Douglas interrupted him by putting one hand on each side of his face, looking deeply into his eyes.

“Calm down.” Martin took a few deep slow breaths, eyes looking anywhere but Douglas.

“…Hi.” The younger man said lamely when he finally mustered up the courage to meet his gaze again.

“Hi.” Martin looked breathtaking in the morning, his hair mussed and cheeks slightly flushed. Douglas wanted to kiss him more than he wanted to breathe.

“I…I have to go…” Martin said weakly, pulling away and leaving Douglas with a crushing weight in his chest.


	9. Ottery St. Mary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be uploaded on the 6th, and I'm VERY pleased to announce that it will be an entirely NON-CANON chapter! Thanks sungmee for beta and I'll see you all in three days!

Douglas felt like a colossal idiot. He and Martin had a perfectly fine friendship and he’d gone and mucked it up. He sighed a little as he realized this was probably one of many flights to come without the short ginger man. It was bad enough going home to an empty flat, now he was going to go to work in an empty plane. He hadn’t seen Martin since that morning nearly a week ago. At first he'd thought it best to give the other man his space, let him cool off. Now...Martin was avoiding him.

“Hello, Starbucks, Irish Sea.” Douglas quipped when he answered the satcom, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Douglas, it’s Martin.” Douglas perked up a bit. Perhaps it was all in his head after all. Martin could be mature about this, surely.

“Hello there. Enjoying your day off?”

“No. Douglas, how long till you land?” A faint trill of hope curled up inside him.

“About half an hour. Why?” Douglas forced his tone to remain nonchalant.

“Great. Is Arthur there?”

“Well not all there.” Douglas responded, a little moody when it became apparent that yes Martin was in fact avoiding him. Arthur immediately proceeded to underscore the truth of Douglas’ statement by rambling on about the oddity of hearing Martin’s voice through the com when he’s usually on the flight deck and Douglas zoned out a bit, wishing the man were busy in the back with passengers so he could have had a moment alone with Martin. “You find Arthur in philosophical mood, Captain.” He interjected before Arthur continued to unwittingly make a fool of himself.

“Arthur, I need you to help me.” Douglas frowned a little.

“Brilliant! I love helping!” Massive understatement, the boy’s eyes lit up at the very thought of being a help to someone.

“Well, this is a big help, a very big help.”

“No problem, Skip, I am a very big helper!”

“Well, Arthur, um, Douglas, are you still listening?” The awkwardness in Martin’s tone was palpable when he finally addressed the older man, and only Arthur could have missed it.

“I don’t have an enormous amount of choice, Martin.” The first officer managed to keep the majority of clip out of his tone, but his annoyance was rising. It didn’t help his ire when Martin suggested he might put his fingers in his ears.

“Arthur, I’m at Fitton Hospital.”

“Oh no, are you alright?”

“No. I’ve sprained my ankle.” Martin huffed out a breath.

“Oh dear, how did you do that?” Douglas asked.

“I was…” Martin trailed off a little, thinking better of admitting it. “…doesn’t matter how…”

“Martin…” Douglas chided.

“Look, it’s a perfectly valid tool when teaching best safety practice to demonstrate the wrong way as well as the right way!” Douglas smirked as he pictured Martin’s face turning slightly red when he got flustered.

“You twisted your ankle, whilst teaching someone how not to twist their ankle.” Douglas couldn’t resist poking a bit of fun, and it wasn’t lost on him that at the very least Martin was growing less awkward about talking to him. Martin continued to explain his current plight, which involved a job he had delivering a piano, and Douglas decided to test the waters again. “Spare van keys…didn’t we fly him to Amsterdam once?”

“Douglas, shush!” Douglas grinned, relaxing when he recognized a tone he’d heard from many a girl in his youth, the subtext of which read “don’t ever stop.” The older man decided he’d best take this opportunity as it presented itself. He wasn’t going to let Martin chicken out and get away. He couldn’t. They needed to talk. He did feel a little bad about calling Arthur a clot, but the young man had said he liked to help, and today helping meant taking some flak so Douglas could fix things.

“Anyway, there’s no one else to ask!” Martin burst out in response.

“No one?”

“No!” Douglas was beginning to wonder what Martin must think of him. He could call him in the middle of the night to get him from a bar but when a job is on the line he doesn’t even make the cut? He let the silence hang for a moment before clearing his throat pointedly.

“Really? Would you?” the shock in Martin’s tone was rather insulting.

“Well, I’ve nothing else to do today and it’s always useful to have someone owe you a colossal favor.” He replied nonchalantly. He almost laughed at Martin’s reaction when he told Arthur he could still come along, though. Perhaps there was hope yet, if Martin was alright with being alone with him for a drive.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas found the van easily enough, the sight of it reminding him of the day he’d first met Martin. He settled into the driver’s side and adjusted the seat to give his legs room, taking a moment to orient himself to the unfamiliar height of the van in comparison with his Lexus.

“You stay here, Arthur.” He said when he’d parked at the hospital.

“Righto, Douglas.”

Douglas made his way to the entrance, where Martin was waiting sat on a bench. His wide blue eyes looked up at Douglas and he swallowed nervously. “Douglas…”

“Martin, we need to talk.” He sat down beside the captain, but before he could say anything Martin began.

“You don’t need to treat me like a child, I know, it didn’t mean anything.”

“What?” Martin looked at him, uncertainty creeping into his expression at Douglas’ confusion.

“That’s what you were about to say, isn’t it? You’ve told me often enough of your…your exploits with crew members.”

“Yes, but why would you think you were one of them?” Douglas replied instantly, the words flowing freely without thought. Martin looked unsure of how to answer.

“I just…wait…what were you going to say then?”

“I was going to say that I wish you’d have called me before Arthur when you needed help, regardless of how angry you were with me.” 

“You thought I was…” Martin trailed off and then gave a half-laugh. “We are a pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we rather are.” Martin was quiet for a long moment, thinking. Then he looked over at Douglas and tilted his head a little.

“Douglas…do you fancy having dinner together sometime?”

Douglas grinned teasingly. “With an airline captain? How can I refuse?” He laughed when Martin punched him lightly on the arm. “And you always said it was hard to get dates.”

Martin shook his head at him before saying seriously, “There will have to be some ground rules, though. Because we do work together. So…no funny business in the flight deck…or on the air field…or in an airport…or-“

“Pretty much anywhere related to aeroplanes? Got it.” Douglas restrained himself from teasing Martin about ‘funny business’. He had to convince Martin that he took this seriously. “Anything else?”

“Could we…could we keep it between you and me for now?”

“Absolutely,” Douglas replied, “But perhaps we can save the rest of this conversation for later, because I’m fairly certain leaving children alone in the car is illegal and Arthur is still in your van.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas hadn’t thought that getting the green light for dating from Martin would change him any, and to some extent he supposed it hadn’t. He hadn’t done anything out of the usual for himself, but it was the feelings pumping through him that had him reeling. Everything was the same as it had always been, they let the conversation flow naturally, and yet…there were moments in which a sudden thought would shake Douglas from the sense of the mundane.

Showing off on the piano, spinning a tall tale about otters and saints…and Martin would give him this look that made him feel like showing off even more. It made no sense, this sudden need to impress the man he’d been flying with for two years, and yet he couldn’t shake it. It surged up within him when Martin turned to him, frantic.

“So what are we gonna do? It’s five already. If we call a locksmith, we’ll never make it. Douglas, d’you know a trick?” Douglas was struck by that look in his eyes, by the sudden realization that Martin believed in him, really believed in him.

“I’m afraid breaking into Transit vans is a little outside my sphere.” He admitted, at a loss.

“Well, think of something.”

“Well…” He couldn’t let him down. “We may no longer be men with a van, but we are at the airfield and therefore we are – as usual – men with a plane.” Martin looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“We can’t do that, Carolyn would kill us!”

“Carolyn doesn’t need to know, it won’t take fuel enough that she’d miss it and besides, delivering a piano is much less risqué than dropping a sugar bomb on Emily’s birthday party.”

“But that was different, that was for yo-“ Martin cut himself off and went a light shade of pink.

Conscious of Arthur’s presence and their location on the air field, Douglas grinned and teased, “Why, captain, I had no idea you cared.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

In the end, Douglas was glad they had to fly the piano rather than drive it. As soon as they were in the flight deck, they fell into their usual roles easily. It was proof, to himself and to Martin, that they could change their relationship without affecting their work. They still alternated between comfortable silence and ridiculous word games, they still bickered over who took the landing, and they were still themselves.

“Post landing checks complete. Shall I give you a lift, Martin?”

“Thank you, Douglas. See you tomorrow, Arthur.”

“Bye Skip! Bye Douglas!” Arthur waved as he got into his car. The two pilots settled into Douglas’ Lexus and Martin gave him directions to Parkside Terrace.

“Thank you for today, Douglas.” Martin said when they pulled up in front of the shared house.

“Not at all, it was my pleasure.”

“Wh-what are you doing?” Martin asked in mild alarm when Douglas began unbuckling his seatbelt at the same time Martin started to open the door.

“I’m walking you in.”

“You really don’t need to do that, I’m fine, really, it hardly hurts at all.” Douglas rolled his eyes.

“Martin, don’t be ridiculous, you’ve been on your feet far too much already and no doubt you’ve stairs to negotiate as well. I suggest you suck it up and accept my help.” A touch of pink stained Martin’s cheeks but he didn’t protest further when Douglas walked around to the passenger’s side and helped him up the walkway and into the house.

“Gosh, how far up are you, anyway?” Douglas groused a little when they started up a third set of stairs. This was becoming a far more physical day than Douglas was used to, pushing pianos around and climbing stairs.

Martin went the same shade of red he went when he didn’t understand a reference, one Douglas had come to recognize as embarrassment, and muttered, “I’m in the attic.” Their eyes met for a brief moment and Martin shifted, standing a little taller and lifting his chin. Douglas broke the eye contact first, returning his attention to the task of making their way up the stairs.

The last flight of stairs, tucked behind a door as unassuming as the man to whom it belonged, was much narrower than the others and Douglas felt a frisson of worry at the thought of the captain going up and down the steep and twisting steps on that ankle. His worry wasn’t so much, however, that he didn’t get to appreciate the view of his captain’s derriere at eye level. When they reached the top, Martin plopped ungracefully onto the bed, letting out a relieved sigh.

Douglas took in the area. It was larger than he imagined most of the rooms in the house were, its size only hampered by the slanting of the ceiling, but the space was used to maximum capacity, with hooks and shelves placed strategically for convenience. The furniture looked second-hand, but it was well cared for and sturdy. A desk held the oldest computer Douglas had seen in a long while, complete with a bulky monitor. Several model aeroplanes hung from the ceiling, a few of them obvious relics from Martin’s childhood and others more recent. Various old flight manuals and textbooks littered the shelves, joined by aviation magazines and the odd newspaper clipping here and there. Douglas couldn’t help but smile; it was all so very Martin.

Noticing the younger man’s eyes on him, he realized Martin was waiting for his thoughts. “It’s quite nice up here, isn’t it?” he said honestly. The window was placed conveniently to collect an impressive amount of natural light that flooded the room with a warm glow.

“Yes…yes, it is…” Martin said thoughtfully before frowning, “I’d have thought you’d…I mean…it’s not someplace a captain lives, is it?” He sighed a little.

“Of course it is. You’re a captain and you live here. Now, let’s have a look at that ankle.” Ignoring Martin’s protests, he carefully removed his shoes and socks, inspecting the injury in question. “Well, that’s not too bad at all. You’ll be good as new before you know it.”

Martin was cherry red, arms crossed and eyes trained on the wall beside him. “Yes, I know, I did see the doctor.” He half sulked.

“Mmm, and did he tell you to go delivering pianos, or to keep off of it?” Martin didn’t respond and Douglas grinned triumphantly. “Now, why don’t I get you a bucket to soak it in and a cup of tea?”

“Oh, yes, um…yes, all right, thank you, Douglas. The bathroom’s last door on your left one floor down, there’s a bucket under the sink there, and in the kitchen it-“

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” He assured the shorter man before making his way down the stairs. He found the bucket easily, filled it with warm water, and rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until he found Epsom salt. He took the mixture up to where Martin was waiting. Douglas couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down his spine when Martin let out a soft moan of pleasure upon dipping his foot into the soothing water. Images of Martin beneath him, moaning and sighing and oh so very naked, his cheeks flushed with exertion and a few small curls clinging to the sweat on his forehead as he…

“Douglas?” Douglas shook his head as he was pulled out of his fantasy.

“Hm? Oh, right, the tea. I’ll just be a moment.” Douglas took the stairs a little faster this time and let out a deep breath when he shut the door behind him. Focusing back on his task, he made his way to the ground floor and into the kitchen, setting the kettle on. He was just starting to hunt for cups when he was joined in the communal space by one of Martin’s fellow residents, a brunette girl who had just come back from a jog judging by her clothes.

“Oh, hello there. Who are you?” she asked as she filled a glass with water and downed most of it in one go.

“Good evening, I’m Douglas Richardson. I’m-“

“Oh! You’re Martin’s Douglas, are you? Wow!” A light came into her eyes and she looked him up and down appraisingly as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re nothing like I pictured.” Before he could ask her what that meant or what Martin had apparently been saying about him, she had already pressed on, “Andy told me about his ankle, I do hope he’s feeling better. Were you looking for the tea?” Again she kept talking without waiting for a response as she produced the tea from a cabinet to her left and pointed to another behind him, “Cups are in that cabinet over there, Martin likes his with-“

“Milk and two spoons of sugar, a bit of honey if he’s feeling poorly.” Douglas said automatically, earning first a surprised look and then a chuckle.

“That’s right.” She said, loading the prepared cups and spoons onto a tray for him. “Oh, and take these up, too.” A few biscuits were added and the tray was placed into his hands with a smile and a nod in the direction of the stairs. “No need to thank me.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

When he made his way back up to Martin’s attic, he found the shorter man stretched out on the bed, his foot still soaking in the bucket. The light had begun to wane outside so a lamp on the bedside table provided a gentle light.

“Here you are, Martin.” Douglas brought the chair over from his desk and took a seat, passing Martin his cup and taking a sip of his own. Martin murmured his thanks and sighed contently when he sipped his own. “So, about that dinner…how does Thursday sound?”

“Thursday…Thursday sounds…great, yes, Thursday. Thursday’s good.”

“Excellent. Shall I pick you up and take you out, or would you prefer a more private venue?” Martin’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“I thought I asked you out, why does this suddenly sound like your date?”

“My apologies, you’re quite right. So whose car are we taking on your date?”

“Whose…um…I hadn’t really…”

“And where are you taking me? Shall I dress formally?”

“I don’t…”

“And that’s why I thought you might like me to plan the date.”

“Oh…yes…I…Wait, wait, wait, no, I can plan it! I want to plan it!” 

“Are you certain? I cou-“

“I have control, Douglas!” Martin shouted frantically, the water in the bucket sloshing and threatening to upend over the floor in his excitement. Douglas held his hands up in mock surrender while he internally laughed at how easy Martin was to wind up.

“Of course, Martin, I’m looking forward to it.”


	10. A Series of Firsts, the Unrecorded Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW
> 
> Welcome to the first non-canon chapter everyone! Exciting developments are at hand! Firstly, the next chapter will be posted on the 9th, another non-canon chapter. Secondly, I am considering creating a podfic version of Deleted Scenes in conjunction with my beta reader sungmee. We will be doing a test run soon to see how it would play out, so more on that as it develops. Thank you all for your warm comments and continued readership! See you in 3 days!

Douglas took what must be his tenth look in the mirror since he’d finished getting ready. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so nervous. Even dating Helena hadn’t been this nerve-wracking. But this was Martin, and the stakes were so much higher. He’d chosen a nice pair of black slacks and a blue button-up shirt, of which he’d left the top two buttons undone. He was clean shaven, his roots touched up to cover the gray that had taken over his natural brown, and smelled like the bottle of fancy after-shave he’d picked up for the occasion.

“Alright, Richardson, you can do this. It’s just Martin.” He grumbled to himself as he adjusted the collar of his shirt again. A knock sounded at the door and Douglas put on a confident air as he answered.

Martin was also wearing nice slacks coupled with a green button up that complimented his fiery red hair incredibly well. He’d noticeably taken the time to style his hair some, probably in a vain attempt to tame the curls.

“Well! Don’t you look smart today, captain?”

“Shut up, Douglas.” Martin said even as he smiled. The two of them made their way to Martin’s car, an old Ford Focus.

“So, where are you taking me on this mystery date? You’ve been very secretive. Am I about to be treated, perchance, to the wonders of the famed Duxford Air Museum?” Martin went dark red.

“No, o-of course not. It’s…just a secret.”

“Ah. Well, let me know when I can be an equally informed member of the outing.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Ah! Here! We’re going here.” Martin called out, interrupting a heated debate over whether Kit Kats were a sweet or a biscuit. Douglas looked out the window as they pulled into the parking area of Milton Country Park.

“We drove an hour and a half to go to a park?”

“Yes, it’s all planned, what of it?” Martin responded defensively.

“Never mind, you’re right…nice day out, isn’t it?” Martin looked out, seeming to notice the lightly drizzling rain for the first time. He made a frustrated noise. This date was not going well. Douglas was regretting his sarcastic nature.

“We can just…we can sit in the car for a bit. I’ve brought lunch for us.”

“That sounds nice, Martin.” He smiled encouragingly, but Martin just gave him a defeated look. “Really, it does. It makes me feel like a teenager in an American film, actually. Is this ‘Make Out Point’?”

Martin went beet red and let out a small nervous laugh, distracting himself by reaching into the back seat for their packed lunches, distributing the food between them. “I’m sure it’s nothing like what you’re used to…I mean, I’m rubbish at cooking, but Molly helped me out a bit. I thought it looked like it turned out alright…”

Lunch was a pasta dish with garlic bread, nothing fancy, but homey and nice. Douglas took a bite, closing his eyes out of habit as he rolled it around on his tongue, investigating the flavor without any other pesky senses getting in the way of it. He smiled a little as it reminded him of his mother’s cooking growing up. She was no gourmet chef, to be sure, but it was pleasant and warming and familiar. When he opened his eyes, Martin was staring at him.

“Martin, are you going to stare at me throughout the whole meal? Because it’s rather distracting.”

“No, sorry, no…it’s just I think you’re the first person who’s ever smiled after trying something I’ve made. Do you really like it?”

“Yes, I really do.”

“And you’re not just saying that?”

“Martin…”

“Right, sorry.” Martin smiled a little and dug into his own helping of it. “So Douglas…you’re really…? I mean, what I’m trying to ask is…I just never thought you were…”

“Into chaps? You know, you can say it, Martin, it’s not a secret.”

“Right…”

Douglas sighed a little. “Alright, then, let’s get this over with. I’ve been interested in both sexes for as long as I can remember; though I admit the ratio of my past dalliances have been of an overwhelming majority with women. It’s not a secret but I don’t go around with a bullhorn announcing it either, so it’s something that takes most people by surprise.”

“Yes, I imagine so.”

“How about you, then?”

“Me?”

“Yes, quid pro quo, Clarice. Tell me the story of Captain Crieff.”

“I…am…of that persuasion…And everyone always assumes I’m…that I am.”

“…I see…” Douglas said quietly, subtly letting the matter drop and changing the subject. It wasn’t lost on him that Martin couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. They moved on to brighter subjects as they finished their meal, the rain providing a pleasant pitter-patter during any lengths of silence.

“Martin,” Douglas began after they’d both put their plates away, “We were going to go to the Duxford Air Museum before I said something, weren’t we?”

“…Yes…”

“Then hadn’t we better get going? We’ve lost an hour already.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Duxford Air Museum turned out to be a lot more fun than Douglas would have guessed. Martin was completely in his element among the displayed aeroplanes, talking animatedly about different aspects of them that interested him. At one point, in a burst of excitement, he had grabbed Douglas’ hand and tugged him in the direction of what had peaked his interest, and hadn’t dropped the connection until nearly an hour had passed.

When they parked in front of Douglas’ building that evening, it was with a shared reluctance to let it end. Douglas considered inviting Martin up for a cup of tea, but thought better of it. Dating Martin was like baking a soufflé…it required patience and no small amount of care. Judging by the way Martin had just nervously pressed his palms against his thighs, it would be a mistake to take this date upstairs.

“I had a good time today, Martin.”

Martin smiled almost shyly. “I did too, Douglas.”

“I take it we’re on for another date? Say, next Friday?”

“I’ve got a few jobs lined up on Friday, but so long as it’s after five, Friday’s good.”

“Excellent! Friday it is. Oh, and before I go…” Douglas put a hand on Martin’s cheek, tilting his chin up to meet his lips. Martin made a surprised noise before responding, but didn’t get long to do so before Douglas pulled back. Their eyes met for a brief instant before it was Douglas’ turn to be surprised as Martin took hold of the open part of his shirt and tugged him in for another kiss, this one fiery with passion. When the kiss ended the shorter man seemed to come back to himself and blushed fiercely.

“I…I can’t have you showing me up on my date.” He muttered by way of explanation.

“Believe me, Martin, nothing I could have done could possibly have shown up that…I’ve half a mind to ask you where you learned to kiss like that, captain.” Douglas chuckled and opened the door. “See you at work tomorrow.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So, this is your plan for a date? Stay in and watch telly?” Martin half-laughed as he followed Douglas into the kitchen.

“Ah, but you forget, I can make anything look good.”

“You mean you can make anything taste good. You just want to show off, don’t you?”

“You caught me. This is all a ploy to elevate your culinary skills above the level of pasta from a box. Now, come over here and chop this celery, would you?” Martin smiled and set about chopping, half-watching Douglas as he set about other tasks.

“So not only are we staying in and watching telly, you’ve not even cooked the meal yet?” Martin teased, directing his attention back to the celery as he neared the end of it, careful not to accidentally cut himself. A glass of wine appeared before him when he finished, Douglas’ arm half-wrapped around him.

“I’ve always found the anticipation makes the meal that much sweeter.” Douglas practically purred, not missing the slightest shiver from the younger man. Martin accepted the glass and turned around, leaning against the counter as he observed Douglas whisk about the kitchen making culinary magic. He took a sip and hummed in appreciation.

“Thank you, Douglas.”

Douglas smiled in response. He’d carefully chosen the wine for the evening, a red one because he knew Martin favored it on the occasions he splurged when they were on trips, but one that Martin wouldn’t have purchased for himself as it ran more in Douglas’ budget range. “Try this.” He said as he cut a honeydew melon, offering a bite sized piece on the flat of the knife. Martin took it and popped it in his mouth, chewing carefully and smiling at the flavor in combination with the lingering taste of the wine.

Douglas filled his own wine glass with grape juice and they fell into light conversation as they cooked and tasted a few other fruits Douglas had set on the counter as an appetizer. As the meal neared its completion Douglas ushered Martin out of the kitchen to the dining room while he finished up. When he made his way in to join him, he found Martin inspecting the photos framed on the wall.

“That one was taken just before my first solo flight. First plane I ever flew.” He said as he set the table. Martin was closely examining the much younger Douglas smirking superiorly from the frame, a plane behind him. He was dressed in typical flight school fashion, a white button-up and black trousers with tie, a small pilot wings pin clipped to his collar, already exuding the confidence of a captain. Martin took a step, following the wall and pausing at the next picture.

“Is this Emily?” Martin turned slightly to look at Douglas as he pointed to the photograph. Douglas nodded. Martin turned back to inspect the picture again. “She’s beautiful.”

“She is that. And smart, too. One of the top in her class.” Douglas smiled, all fatherly pride.

“She’s got that grin of yours, the one you get when you’ve done something.” Martin said, turning fully and taking his place at the table. Douglas chuckled and took his own seat.

“Yes, well you know what they say, if there’s any justice in the world you’ll have a child just like yourself.”

“Do you get to see her much?” Martin asked, tilting his head a little.

“I get her on weekends when we don’t have any flights and they don’t have any special plans, and we alternate holidays. Occasionally I get to pop up there and surprise her...Her mother’s very good about making sure we have time together when it’s possible.”

“Why aren’t you…would it be rude to ask what…happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing as sordid as the business with Helena…we were never really together to be perfectly honest. We shared a night together and like many before us it had consequences. At the time we thought that marriage was the best option, but in the end we were more suited to be friends than lovers…I can’t say I regret it, though. Emily is the best thing that ever happened to me in more ways than one, and as I said, Maggie is a very good friend.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

After dinner, Douglas directed Martin to the living room.

“So, what are we watching then?” Martin asked as he settled on one end of the couch.

“So glad you asked. Die Hard 2. I like action films, you like aeroplanes, hey presto.” Douglas replied as he put the movie in.

“I like flying aeroplanes, not terrorists hijacking them.” Martin laughed. Douglas chuckled and sat down beside him, swinging his arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

“D-Douglas?” Martin looked at him quizzically, cheeks tinged pink.

“Watch the movie, Martin.” Martin quietly turned his eyes back to the screen, shifting slightly to rest a little more against the older man comfortably, his lips quirking up at the corners.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Martin, are you coming in?” Douglas asked, glancing at the captain lingering in the doorway of the hotel room as he pulled his already loosened tie off and shucked his jacket. The younger man stepped in and gingerly closed the door behind him, looking as though he expected a snake to bite him.

“You’d think I was a serial killer…” Douglas muttered under his breath, removing his button-up and trousers in favor of an old t-shirt and his pants and lying back on his chosen bed near the window of their small hotel room. Martin watched him somewhat warily and with a faint blush on his cheeks and Douglas put on his reading glasses and settled into a crossword, studiously ignoring Martin until the captain started to slowly undress himself. Douglas tried to concentrate on 28 down, ‘a three-letter word for tease’, and not on his boyfriend stripping in his peripheral vision. A three-letter word for tease…tease…strip tease...Martin stripping…

Douglas’ eyes flickered over to the ginger man involuntarily, marking the progress of the shirt down his back, tracing the ridges of his shoulder blades, dipping over smooth skin to impossibly narrow hips. He swallowed and licked his lips, he could practically taste the salty sweetness that pale muscular flesh would offer up as he ran his tongue down the line of Martin’s spine in the heat of passion, the way Martin would moan and turn his head to meet his eye, filthy words coming from his parted lips in the throes of ecstasy…

Douglas blinked when he felt the bed dip from added weight, only then realizing that his crossword lay forgotten in his lap not doing a very good job of hiding an impressive erection. When had Martin gotten so close? Douglas wasn’t used to feeling so out of sorts.

“Ah, Martin, I apologiz-“ Martin cut him off with a kiss and Douglas responded in kind, abandoning his crossword in favor of wrapping an arm around his boyfriend and pulling him so they were flush against one another and he could feel evidence of the other pilot’s excitement against his thigh. Martin broke the kiss first, pulling back a few inches and going scarlet as his eyes flickered down.

“Did…did I do that?” he asked breathlessly with a sort of wonderment.

“Yes…sir.” Douglas replied with a seductive grin, kissing Martin’s neck a few times before he noticed how tense the captain was getting. Although he was responding and making small noises of encouragement, it felt like he was just going along for the ride. Douglas pulled back, finding Martin’s hand with his own and kissing the back of it lightly before sitting back and gently beginning to massage it with his thumbs. “Tell me about the landing in Lisbon last month.”

“What?” Martin stared at him dumbly.

“The landing in Lisbon. Devilish crosswind, wasn’t it?” he repeated, his thumbs now kneading carefully into Martin’s wrist. Martin was looking at him like he’d grown a second head.

“What are you doing, Douglas?”

“I’m having a chat. I hear people chat with their boyfriends all the time. It’s all the rage these days.”

“Yes, but not when they’re supposed to be being…intimate.” Martin blushed and looked away.

“Well I have a masterful countermeasure to that predicament…we aren’t ‘supposed’ to be being anything. Dating doesn’t obligate us to be physical. There’re a whole slew of nuns at my primary school that could give you the full lecture on the subject complete with fire and brimstone if you like.” Martin relaxed a little and stole his hand away in order to wrap his arms around Douglas, resting his head briefly on the first officer’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Douglas…” Douglas hummed in response before carefully extricating himself from Martin’s hold when his problem below twitched insistently, wanting to be taken care of.

“Well, I for one am going to take a shower.” He slipped into the loo and shut the door behind him, turning on the shower. He bit his lip before taking the decision to slide the temperature indicator up rather than down, stripping and stepping into the inviting warmth.

Douglas sighed contently as the warm water cascaded down his body. One hand slicked the water back into his hair while the other trailed down to take hold of his neglected member, sliding easily over his length. His eyes fluttered closed as he took his pick of the many fantasies rolling around in his brain. Now that they were dating he was hyper aware of all the little things Martin did during a flight that were so very distracting. The younger man had some sort of fixation with his mouth, he was forever doing something with it…biting his lower lip, sucking on the end of a pen or pencil, chewing on the tip of his thumb, it was maddening. So Douglas allowed his thoughts to roam, conjuring up an image of Martin with something rather larger between his lips, his tongue playing along the underside…a low moan forced its way out as he picked up the pace, his palm working up and down his shaft until he was coming, the water washing away the evidence of his activity. He rested his weight on one arm against the tiled wall, letting the water beat down on his back pleasantly for a moment before stepping out of the shower, drying off, and putting on his pants, not bothering with the shirt this time.

Douglas blinked in surprise when he returned to the room to find Martin had pushed the beds together and arranged the blankets accordingly. He smiled and slipped under the covers, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and spooning up behind him, placing a light kiss on his shoulder. The younger man smiled and shifted a little to get comfortable, idly comparing the first officer’s hands to his own. Douglas yawned a little.

“Shall I turn the light off, darling?” he asked without thinking. Martin turned slightly in his hold, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

“Darling?”

“Oh…sorry, Martin, slip of the tongue.” It was a habit to use such endearments on the people in his inner circle, one he’d never really thought about. The terms just flowed naturally.

“No, I…I rather like it, actually.”

Douglas grinned, reaching back to turn off the bedside lamp and speaking into the darkness, “What about sugar-lips? Honey-bunch? Love-muffin? Lambey-pie? Oh, maybe buttercup!” Martin laughed and smacked him lightly on the arm.

“Oh, I know, I’ll do one in French! Mon cher.” Martin’s lips met his own briefly.

“Shut up, Douglas.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas, this is too much…” Martin said as soon as he’d dragged Douglas a safe distance from a very confused valet.

“Martin, you can’t claim you didn’t see this coming, I told you to dress formally.” Martin cut a stunning figure in the one suit he owned, though Douglas suspected it had been a hand me down someone had done an excellent job hemming to fit him better.

“I thought we were going to a bloody play or something, this is a five star restaurant! I could eat for a year on the money you spend on an appetizer here!”

“It’s my turn to plan the date, I wanted to take you here. Besides, you made me spend an entire day in God-forsaken Bristol.”

“Hey, you enjoyed it! At least the Time Machine Museum anyway.” Much as he hated to admit it, Martin was right. As homage to the flight they had started their friendship on, Martin had planned an entire date around exploring everything Bristol had to offer last month, from the suspension bridge to the rather fantastic Time Machine Museum of Science Fiction.

“Yes, and you’re going to enjoy this.” Douglas wrapped his arms around Martin, relishing the way the younger man blushed at the public display of affection. “It’s your birthday, Martin, let me spoil you a little. It’s a habit, I admit, but it’s not one I’m likely to break.”

“Alright then.” Martin huffed out a breath and relaxed a little, offering Douglas a small smile and allowing him to lead the way inside to their reserved table. When they were settled, Martin paled at the sight of the menu.

“Martin, if you order the cheapest thing on the menu I’m going to order for you.”

“…Douglas, I can’t order from this…”

“Martin…” Douglas chided.

“No, I mean I really can’t. I’ve no idea what any of this says. Do they not have menus written in plain English?” Douglas chuckled and scooted closer, leaning over to look at the menu with him, beginning to softly translate it near his ear. “Stop it, you’re not helping. Why don’t you just order for me anyway?”

“Happy to, Martin.” When the waiter arrived, Douglas ordered in flawless French, the words rolling off his tongue like he was born to it. Once the waiter was out of earshot, the first officer grinned and teased, “Is that a blush I see? Do you perhaps like it when I speak French?”

“Douglas…” Martin half-growled between clenched teeth, his blush darkening a shade.

“Just going to file that one away for later use, then.” Martin relaxed a little.

“Did you learn it in school?” he asked curiously, taking a sip of the provided water.

“I did take it in school, but I learned it originally from my grandmother.”

“She was French?”

“Mai oui, mon amour. She met my grandfather during the war and came over to be with him after.”

The waiter arrived with their respective drinks and Martin sipped his appreciatively before turning a look to Douglas that was caught between curious and concerned.

“Why do you always serve me wine, Douglas?”

“You like wine, I thought.”

“I do, but…does it make it harder for you? I’d rather not have it if it bothers you at all.” If anyone else had said it, Douglas probably would have gotten angry. He hated acknowledgment of his shortcomings. But when Martin said it, it never felt like his flaws were being pointed out, or that he was being viewed as weak. It only felt like love and concern and it made that warm feeling rise in his chest.

“You didn’t even know I didn’t drink until I told you.” He pointed out with amusement before saying more seriously, “I have no problem with you drinking around me, Martin. The temptation will always be there, I think, and that’s why I don’t let myself one drop into that territory, but I’m in no danger of falling back into old habits, I’ve got far too many reasons not to go there…now,” Douglas held up his glass, “to Captain Crieff, thirty-four today. Cheers.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas, I think you made a wrong turn.” Martin said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as Douglas navigated the dark streets after dinner. Douglas frowned.

“No I didn’t…Parkside Terrace is this way.”

“Yes, it is…but your flat is the other way.” Douglas blinked once. Twice. The car slowed almost to a halt.

“Martin, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Blue eyes met hazel and Martin offered a shy smile and a nod, words failing him. Douglas quickly pulled over, putting the car into park and turning to face the ginger man. “You know I wasn’t pressuring you, don’t you? Fancy meal or not, if you aren’t ready…”

Martin pulled him into a firework inducing kiss. It never ceased to amaze him how incredibly good Martin was at that. It didn’t matter what was going on, when Martin pulled him in and crushed their lips together he forgot how to speak.

“It’s my birthday, Douglas, and I know what I want.” Martin smiled that slightly superior pleased smile he’d adopted after he’d discovered his little super power over Douglas. He took great pleasure in the fact that he could have that effect on Douglas Richardson. Douglas smiled and took hold of Martin’s hand as he shifted back to face forward again, kissing it lightly before maneuvering back onto the road again. He drove them to his flat with extra care, trying to focus on the road when his mind was racing with every dirty thought he’d ever had about his captain.

As soon as they were in the door Douglas had Martin pressed back against it, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Martin moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Douglas’ neck, using the hold on his shoulders to pull himself further up into the heated kiss.

“Bedroom.” Martin gasped when they broke apart, breathing heavily. Douglas pulled Martin up into another kiss as he lead the way backwards, the two of them bumping their way along the hall, tearing off ties and jackets and knocking a small stack of letters off an end table as they made their way to the bedroom.

Martin toppled back onto the bed first before Douglas was over him, kissing him deeply as he finished the last of the buttons on the captain’s shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders to hang from his elbows as he pushed himself up onto his hands to get leverage in the battle for dominance their tongues were currently waging.

Douglas couldn’t hide his surprise when Martin suddenly flipped them and he was flat on his back, looking up at a sight that had all the blood rushing to his groin at once. Martin straddling him, his blue eyes dark with lust, hair disheveled, lips slightly swollen from kissing, his shirt barely hanging off his arms anymore leaving an impressive amount of bare skin for his eyes to feast on. He’d always expected Martin to be timid in the bedroom, at least to start with, and Martin’s display of confidence sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.

Martin tugged his sleeves off and tossed the shirt away, then pushed Douglas back flat on his back when he tried to sit up some. Their eyes met and held as Martin slowly undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. The younger man leaned down over him so their lips brushed just barely, shifting to trail light kisses down his jaw before Douglas could deepen it. The first officer let out a shaky breath as Martin continued his slow exploration with his lips, sometimes pausing to run the tip of his tongue over bare flesh. Douglas kept his eyes on his young lover, watching as he worshiped his body in a way no one had ever done before, lavishing extra care and attention when he came across the scar from an appendectomy, barely visible anymore save for a small streak of pale skin.

Martin scooted down past the bulge in Douglas’ trousers, turning his attention instead to the removal of his shoes and socks. When he finished his task, he crept back up so they were face to face, stretching himself over the older man. Uncertainty wavered in his eyes for a moment, then he took a deep breath and whispered, “You have control.”

The trust in those blue orbs was staggering. Douglas reached up, his fingers playing lightly in ginger curls before bringing Martin into a slow kiss, simultaneously flipping them again so he was hovering over the younger man, settled comfortably between his legs. Leaning in close to the other man’s ear, he used his most orgasm-inducing sensual tone and purred, “Yes, sir.”

“God, that should be illegal.” Martin shivered and squirmed a little. Douglas chuckled and nipped his neck playfully, pressing his weight down at the pelvis and grinding their hips together, causing them both to moan. Douglas continued his descent, sucking and biting when he found sensitive areas, all the way down to Martin’s navel. His hands made quick work of Martin’s belt and zipper, shimmying his trousers and pants down enough to free his erection, and with a smirk he took it into his mouth.

Martin threw his head back and gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets. Douglas threw one arm over his hips to keep him from thrusting up into his mouth and making him choke as he bobbed his head, relishing the noises the redhead released.

“Douglas, I…I’m going to…ahh…” Martin whimpered when Douglas pulled back before he finished, carefully pinching the head of his shaft to prevent him from coming. Their lips crashed together in a passionate kiss while Martin fumbled with his belt. The younger man broke this kiss with a noise of frustration as he struggled to remove it in his eagerness. Douglas took over for him, removing the belt and opening the front of his trousers. As soon as they were open Martin’s hand was there, slipping in and taking a firm hold of his member, stroking erratically while their lips met in a heated kiss. Douglas moaned loudly and couldn’t help but thrust into Martin’s grip, the lack of rhythm in the strokes driving him to near madness. Breaking the kiss to gasp in much-needed oxygen, he took Martin’s hand and freed his aching cock from it, tugging Martin’s clothes down intent on getting rid of the offending garments.

“Sod it all…” Douglas growled when he was reminded that he hadn’t removed Martin’s shoes by the sudden hold up to the progress he’d been making. He quickly divested Martin and himself of the last of their clothing, moving up to lay over him, skin to skin. Douglas took the time to catch his breath and take in the feeling of having Martin beneath him, savoring the moment and regaining his senses.

“Vous etes magnifique.” He breathed, brushing a few stray curls out of his lover’s eyes. Martin leaned up and kissed him softly, then grinned.

“At the risk of ruining the mood, would you fuck me already Douglas Richardson?” Douglas laughed and shifted, rummaging around in the drawer of the night stand until he located a bottle of lubricant. He poured a generous amount onto his hand and shifted Martin’s legs for better access, just brushing his entrance without attempting to breach it.

“Do you ever touch yourself like this, Martin?” his voice rumbled in his ear before nibbling on his earlobe, distracting him.

“S-sometimes…” Martin admitted, his breathing hitching when Douglas pressed just a little before retreating to play around the edges again.

“Tell me what you think about…”

“What I…D-Douglas…”

“Do you think about me?” he asked, his voice low and sultry, “Do you imagine me touching you…stroking you…fucking you?” he ran the tip of his tongue along the shell of his ear, applying a small amount of pressure before again removing the finger.

“Yes…yes…” Martin moaned softly and half whined, “Douglas…”

“Mmm, tell me, Martin.” His finger made a slow circle around and around.

“S-sometimes…sometimes it’s….fast and, and hot and you just…just lose control and push me up against the nearest surface and…oh, God, Douglas…” Martin moaned and lost his train of thought when Douglas finally slipped a finger in, gripping Douglas’ arm tightly.

“Go on…”

“Ah…Sometimes…it’s slow and I can feel you everywhere and…a-and you whisper in my ear, like now…and it all builds up and…God, Douglas, I can’t think…” Douglas had added another finger, slowly and carefully preparing him.

“Shall I tell you what I love about you, then?” Douglas murmured, “I love the color of your eyes…the way your hair curls around my fingers. I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve…but that there are still parts of yourself reserved just for me. I love the way you put on a brave face even when you aren’t feeling brave, and the way you smile, and your freckles…and I really love the way you think I’m terrific.” Martin smiled and hit Douglas’ arm.

“Leave it to you to ruin a...ah…a perfectly romantic moment by being cheeky.”

“I’m also a huge fan of your arse, if that helps…really your whole body, actually, it’s an incredibly well-kept secret you’ve got tucked under your uniform-“ Douglas was interrupted when he rotated his wrist slightly, his fingertips brushing that bundle of nerves and causing Martin to cry out, clinging to him. Douglas grinned wickedly. “Ah, there it is.” This time he purposely thrust his fingers in, earning another cry of pleasure from the younger man. He repeated the motion, continuing to torment Martin until he was almost sobbing from pleasure.

“Douglaasssss,” Martin moaned, his nails digging into Douglas’ arm slightly, “please, I can’t…I need you to…” Douglas kissed him, swallowing his plea, and took mercy on him, removing his fingers and reaching for the lube again. As he poured a fresh coat of it onto his hand, Martin’s eyes followed him, his breathing heavy and legs trembling slightly from exertion, a thin sheen of sweat covering his naked body. The older man spread the lubricant liberally over his painfully aching member before shifting to position himself. Their eyes locked as he pressed his hips forward, sinking into the slick heat of Martin’s body.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gripping Martin’s slightly bony hips to keep control while he made certain Martin wasn’t experiencing pain or discomfort.

“Bloody brilliant…please don’t stop.” Martin shifted his hips, urging him to continue, and he slowly pulled halfway out before thrusting back in, earning a pleased moan. He growled, picking up a pace that had Martin mewling and clutching him tight. Leaning down, he whispered sweet nothings into his lover’s ear, reveling in how vocal a partner Martin was. So often stuffy and uptight now he was untethered and undone, arching his back and chanting Douglas’ name like a mantra, his nails dragging down his back.

Almost to the brink already, Douglas reached between them and pumped his fist over Martin’s weeping hardness in time with his thrusts and sending Martin over the edge, his white hot semen spurting over his stomach as Douglas thrust once, twice more, and he was in oblivion. Martin’s hold on him relaxed slightly, his nails replaced by flat palms petting at Douglas’ back. They kissed, briefly, softly, and Douglas shifted to the side, pulling Martin to him. Martin sighed softly, content with being held as they let the air cool their sweaty bodies.

“Just be a moment.” Douglas murmured, kissing Martin’s forehead and shifting out of bed, returning moments later with a wet cloth and a glass of water. Martin accepted the glass gratefully, greedily downing half of it in one go before setting it on the night stand. Douglas took the cloth and gently cleaned his lover, taking extra care when Martin sucked in a breath, over-sensitive from the stimulation. When he settled back down into bed, he was slightly surprised when Martin pulled him close and tucked him under his chin, nuzzling into his hair slightly and breathing deep, his hands playing lightly over Douglas’ shoulder. It was nice to be held and coddled, a change of pace from his usual position as the big spoon.

“I didn’t tell you what I love about you, yet.” Martin said quietly. “I love how soft your hair is, and your voice when you sing, or even just talk…I love that where everyone else gets glimpses of the real you, I get the whole view. I love the smell of your aftershave, and that bloody grin of yours…I think mostly I just love you.”

“Martin…” Douglas shifted, looking into his lover’s eyes. “I love you, too.”


	11. Emily Richardson, the Unrecorded Episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is St. Petersburg, to be posted on the 12th, and I'd like to thank you all for your comments, they always make my day that much brighter. Special thanks to sungmee for beta.

“Douglas, what are your plans for Christmas?” Martin asked, feigning nonchalance. Douglas lowered his newspaper a little to peer at his boyfriend as he nursed a cup of coffee.

“I was going to drive up to Barrow-in-Furness and see Emily. Why, would you like to come along?” Douglas hid his grin behind his paper. Martin was terrified of meeting his daughter, worried that he wouldn’t receive her approval, and had opted out of the previous two offers to join their time together, making himself scarce when Douglas had her for the weekend under the guise of van jobs.

“N-no, that’s…that’s fine, I, um, I don’t think I’m quite up for meeting your ex-wife…and anyway, I’m expected to make an appearance at home myself, you know, spend a few hours with Mum, Cait, Simon and Mary and the twins.”

“Fair enough.” Douglas went back to reading his paper.

“What about Christmas morning?” The older man lowered his paper again.

“What about it?”

“Are you going to be here? I mean, for presents. I got you a present.”

“I got you one, too. As it happens I don’t plan to leave until eleven or so, so there’s time for presents, but you do know we could easily have held the gift exchange some other day.”

“Yes, I know, it’s just…Christmas Day. It’s special.” Martin shrugged.

“I thought you weren’t bothered about Christmas?” Douglas set the paper down entirely now, smirking as Martin avoided eye contact and drew himself up an inch, trying to look mature.

“I’m not. Christmas is a total…un-mattering thing…”

“Martin…” Douglas chided.

“Yes?”

“Do you really like Christmas?” Douglas asked, already guessing the answer. Martin tried to keep his composure but only lasted a matter of seconds before he burst.

“Yes! I do, okay? I love it! I love everything about it! I love the carols and the food and the snow and the presents and I love the tree and the lights and the stockings and the Christmas-bloody-specials on telly!” Martin draped the upper half of his body across the table in utter defeat and Douglas burst out laughing.

“Martin, why on earth were you holding all that in?”

“…I wanted you to think I was grown-up…” he pouted miserably.

“Well, I certainly do, now.” Douglas teased. “Anyway, if it’s that important to you we can do something festive for Christmas.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Feel free to hang up stockings and everything else you had on your list, go nuts.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas was regretting saying those words. Martin had become a man on a mission and Christmas was now exploding from every available surface. He’d gone through the flat like a whirlwind decorating. It had been almost cartoon-like. As Martin passed him with a whoosh, he looked down and found his mug of coffee had been replaced with a Christmas mug, and with the next pass a candy cane was sticking out of it, still swirling in circles in the wake of Hurricane Martin.

“What do you think?” Martin asked as he plugged in the lights he’d just finished stringing around the living room, creating a dazzling display.

“Martin…I think I may have underestimated the power of your Christmas spirit.” A ding sounded from the kitchen.

“Ah! The biscuits are ready!” Martin whisked out of the room and Douglas followed.

“Biscuits?! When did you have time to bake biscuits? I was only in the shower for fifteen minutes!” Martin pulled a batch of biscuits from the oven as if by magic and Douglas had to admit they smelled heavenly.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Christmas was always the best,” Martin mused as he took a sip of his tea when Douglas finally managed to convince him to sit down for five minutes. He leaned his head on Douglas’ shoulder. “We always had the best lights, everyone said so. Dad and I used to do them together.”

“Sounds nice.” Douglas said softly, wrapping his arms securely around his boyfriend.

“It was.” Martin let out a small laugh. “Simon is terrible with lights and things. Dad used to say he could probably find a way to blow up Wokingham trying to fix a toaster.” Douglas chuckled.

“I was a natural at it…he knew, of course, that I wanted to be a pilot, I just think after that first failure he…he was so pleased that I didn’t make it. He thought I’d follow in his footsteps.” Martin sighed and a long silence swept in. “I don’t mean to paint him in a bad light, he was a good father, I just…I wonder sometimes if he’d be disappointed in me, if he saw me now.”

“Well,” Douglas began, thinking carefully about how to respond, “I never met him, but I think he’d definitely be impressed with these lights.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Martin, how on earth did you pull this off? We literally just arrived.” Douglas asked as they stepped into the portacabin, which was decked out in more Christmas than the North Pole.

“I had nothing to do with this…” Martin said, staring at the display. They both jumped when Arthur sprang up from within a box of Christmas decorations, tinsel clinging to his arms and glitter in his hair, a bit of stray ribbon hanging off one ear.

“Douglas! Skip! George found a box of Christmas stuff and Mum said I could decorate! Brilliant!”

“Oh, God, it’s catching.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas growled when his alarm clock went off, jerking him out of a deep and fitful slumber. He slammed his hand down on the button to silence it, rolling over and fighting the urge to slip back into unconsciousness. He blinked a few times groggily and scowled at Martin, who was watching him with a wide smile and eager eyes.

“Happy Christmas, Douglas.” He said brightly, leaning in to give him a peck on the cheek.

“It is entirely too early to be that cheerful.” He grumbled in response, stealing Martin’s pillow to plaster over his face.

“Oh, come on, Douglas, I’ve been up for hours already!”

“You and Emily should form a club then.” He replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

“Fine, fine.” Douglas sat up, blinked away the sleep and followed Martin to the kitchen, accepting the offered mug of coffee and sighing appreciatively as the jolt of caffeine aided him in functioning again. After a few sips he noticed Martin staring at him with barely contained excitement and rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

The two of them made their way to the living room to sit in front of the tree and Martin placed a small package into his hands, neatly wrapped with a bow. Seeing Martin’s anticipation of his opening it, he made a show of shaking it lightly near his ear before opening it, lifting the lid off a small box beneath the paper.

“Martin!” he exclaimed, seeing the slip of paper inside, a ticket to the rugby World Cup finals in Twickenham. Martin offered him a shy smile.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do.” He tugged Martin close, keeping an arm wrapped snugly around him. “Now, Martin, for Christmas, I have procured for you…this piece of GERTI.”

Douglas grinned and pulled his hand out from behind his back, opening his palm to reveal a small chunk of the old girl. Martin took the piece, examining it, his mouth opening and closing a few times.

“This isn’t a vital part, is it?” he asked dubiously.

“No. Arthur found it under your seat the other day and I thought that as ‘supreme commander’ of the vessel, you might like that piece of your vessel back.” Douglas chuckled. “Anyway, this is your real gift.”

He handed him a small box of his own. The younger man wasted no time on pretense, opening it and examining the contents. Inside was a small pilot’s pin, sleek wings spreading gracefully from the center. The metal was polished but clearly showed its age, and Martin’s eyes sought Douglas’ questioningly.

“I’ve worn that on every flight I’ve ever flown, a sort of good luck charm…maybe it will bring you similar good fortune.” Martin looked down at the pin again, his thumb tracing over the slightly worn lines of the feathers.

“Th-thank you, Douglas…” he said at length, still looking unsure of whether he should accept a gift of such sentimentality.

“Merry Christmas, Martin.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

It wasn’t until Douglas got to Maggie’s house that he found the homemade Christmas cracker nestled between the wrapped gifts on the passenger’s seat. He smiled fondly at the note tucked beside it, Martin’s scrawling handwriting stating simply, ‘for Emily’. As soon as he stepped out of the car he heard his daughter’s joyful laughter and turned instinctively to catch her in his arms as she flew down the walkway to him.

“Happy Christmas, darling!” he planted a kiss in her hair and lifted her with him, bumping the car door shut behind him and making his way up into the house. He paused just inside the door to put Emily back on her feet. Maggie came through wearing an apron and hugged him while holding a spoon aloft, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

“Douglas, excellent timing! Keep your daughter occupied while I finish Christmas dinner before she drives me up the wall, will you?” She swept off back to the kitchen without waiting for a response, knowing the request was entirely unnecessary as Emily was already dragging him into the next room to show him her marks from school. She continued to chatter to him about this and that, barely ever stopping for breath, and he took it all in, appreciating more than ever the time he got to spend with her.

“Now, I know we can’t do presents until after dinner, but I think we can get away with this one.” Douglas said conspiratorially when she let him get a word in edgewise, presenting the cracker. “My…” he faltered a moment. Martin wanted to keep the relationship secret…but did that extend to Douglas’ family, or just shared acquaintances and Martin’s? Should he call Martin his colleague, his friend, his lover? Emily tilted her head at him curiously, it wasn’t often he stumbled on his words. “My secret admirer made this for you. Isn’t that thoughtful? Now, take your end.”

She obliged and they each took their own ends and pulled. Emily got the bigger half and investigated the contents of the cylinder. She placed the paper crown on his head before unfolding the slip of paper and reading the limerick.

“Sean Connery, in Vyshny Volochyok, in the rain, on a drizzly solo trek, said, ‘forgetting my shweater has made me much wetter. I shertainly do miss my polo neck.’” Douglas burst out laughing.

“Good lord, does it actually say that?”

“Yes…Dad, it’s not that funny.”

“One day, Emily,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye, “I’m going to tell you why it’s exactly that funny.”

“Oh, look, a little plane!” Emily had returned her attention to the contents of the cracker and produced a small plastic model jet for his inspection.

“Ah, so it is.” He smiled, thinking of Martin putting all this together.

“Emily, set the table, would you, dear?” Maggie called from the doorway. “And Douglas could you help me in the kitchen, please?”

Douglas followed her cautiously. Maggie was forever kicking him out of the kitchen when she cooked because he had a habit of making suggestions. To be invited in meant a serious conversation was on the horizon.

“What is it?” he asked tentatively once they were safely confined.

“Congratulations, Douglas.” She smiled warmly at him.

“Did I win an award I’m not aware of?”

“Oh, you can drop the act, you never did fool me. Emily told me you haven’t stopped smiling the past few times she’s visited, and now there’s a secret admirer sending her gifts for Christmas? You’re dating someone, don’t try to deny it.”

Douglas smiled, knowing that was all the confirmation she’d need. There was some measure of relief that someone knew, even if she didn't know who it was. Maggie knew him through and through, possibly better than anyone else did, with the exception of maybe Martin. He’d always thought it was a shame they didn’t have that spark, because in every other sense they were well suited for each other.

“Oh, Douglas…” Maggie pulled him into a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Martin, do you have any plans for Saturday?” Martin looked thoughtful for a moment.

“No, I don’t think I do. Did you want to go out?”

Douglas paused before responding, “…I have Emily this weekend.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to join us? I…I’d like you to meet her.”

“Really?” Martin locked eyes with him in surprise.

“Of course! I didn’t want to push it, but I want you two to get to know one another. I thought we could drive over to the Dr. Who Experience in London.”

“I don’t know that much about Dr. Who.” Martin fretted.

“That’s the beauty of it, you don’t have to. Emily loves that show she’ll gladly talk your ear off about it. She does a lovely impression of you talking about aeroplanes, actually.”

“…Do you think she’ll like me?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Darling, this is m-“ Douglas caught himself quickly before he said the word ‘my’ and had to come up with a not quite accurate descriptor of Martin on the fly. “Martin. Martin, this is Emily.”

“H-hello there, Emily…” Martin stammered, obviously nervous as he stood awkwardly at the front door.

“I asked Martin if he’d like to come along on our trip today. You see, you’re not quite British if you don’t understand two out of three of the following: football, tea, and Doctor Who. And seeing as football appears to be a hopeless case, we have no choice but to educate him.” Emily cast an assessing eye over Martin before letting the edges of her mouth curl upwards.

“Well, we have got a lot of work to do, then, Martin.” She looped her arm through his and led the way to the car. “Attend...” And Emily was off on a tangent about the sci fi show. At first Martin nodded along and listened attentively, interjecting the occasional question for clarification, but by the time they arrived in London the two were having an active and animated discussion.

“Hate to interrupt you two, but we’re here.” Douglas smiled, pleased that they were getting on so well. While he knew that it was to some extent showmanship on Emily’s side, he was sure she was at the very least neutral about him. Emily wasn’t the sort to suffer people she disliked and would have bluntly given her opinion if it was poor. He had no doubt tonight he’d get the full rendition of her thoughts.

The trio purchased their tickets and entered, Emily bouncing a little in barely contained excitement, and were situated in front of a backdrop depicting the TARDIS in the time vortex. Martin tensed up a little, looking at Douglas questioningly as if unsure if he should be included in the photograph, but Douglas just tugged him a little closer and the picture was snapped before Martin could verbally protest. They spent the next few minutes among a couple of displays, Martin asking Emily if this or that was what she had been referring to in her earlier explanations, and before long were ushered into the more interactive parts of the experience.

The highlight of the exhibits was without a doubt the monsters, which had the two younger members of the group in awe and prompted some picture taking on Douglas’ phone. Additionally they each got photographed in front of the life-sized TARDIS and spent some time looking over the impressive collection of outfits before making their way into the gift shop. After they whiled away at least two hours in the store, Douglas firmly determined that Emily could choose a shirt and one sonic screwdriver and not the entire place and they went through the register.

“I’m going to use the loo real quick before we head home. Emily, will you keep an eye on Martin for me?” Douglas asked before they exited.

“Sure thing, Dad.” Martin visibly tensed and clammed up again, despite how relaxed he had gotten over the course of the day. Douglas patted him on the shoulder reassuringly before leaving them on their own to relieve himself.

When he got back, the two were leaning against the wall together quietly, but neither seemed to be traumatized in any way so he could only assume they were in good mental health despite the few minutes alone together. The ride home was filled with a chorus of voices singing along with the radio in turns and the buzz of a sonic screwdriver. When they arrived back in Fitton, Martin bid them goodnight and hopped into his car, leaving father and daughter to bask in the afterglow of a day well spent.

Douglas put the kettle on for tea, aware that Emily had followed him into the kitchen and was formulating her thoughts carefully. She was so like him.

“Martin’s nice…I like him a lot better than I did Helena.” She finally said, a simple statement filled with more subtext than she had a right to use at her age.

“I do, too. What do you think of asking him to join our poker game next time you’re over? We can clean him out of jelly babies.”

“Sounds good.”


	12. St. Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter does have two very brief but graphic depictions of blood/gore, so if that bothers you please skip the bits that are headed with a double squiggly (~~). A second double squiggly (~~) will mark the end of the potentially disturbing section.
> 
> Oh, man, guys we are getting into series four content next update! Timbuktu will be hitting you on the 15th (yes I actually did a Birling Day chapter at last!)! Also, for any of you who were wondering, yes Theresa will be included when we get to Vaduz and I will be continuing to stick to canon. Hit me up with any questions or comments you have I always love to hear from you even if it's just to call the cops on me (I have my lawyer on speed dial now). Thank you all and thank you sungmee best beta ever!

“Post take-off checks complete.” Martin stated, leaning back in his chair a little.

“Thank you, Martin.” Douglas leveled them out and then turned on the intercom. “How is Arthur?”

“Sore-lipped and accidentally drunk.” Carolyn responded from the galley, Arthur slurring drunkenly behind her. “I can see the next three hours are going to fly by on gilded wings.”

“Have fun.” The first officer switched the intercom off and turned slightly to Martin. “All right, then, Martin, Rhyming Journeys.”

“Hmm?”

“Vienna to Siena.” Douglas used an example for clarification.

“Oh, right. Okay…” Martin paused before making a struggling noise.

“Poole to Goole.”

“Good one.” Another pause, Martin’s brows furrowed in concentration, another struggling noise.

“Aruba to Cuba.” Douglas grinned.

“Oh, give me a chance!” Martin fussed before exclaiming, “Oh! York to New York!”

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Yyyyeessss….ish.” he conceded, though he still thought that was rather beating a dead horse. “Or York to Cork.”

“Oh, damn! All right, um…Paris to…” he began to murmur rhymes under his breath, none of them actual locations, before interrupting himself with a different train of thought. “Oh! Or how about Peterborough to-“

Douglas never got to hear what Martin thought Peterborough was going to rhyme with, as GERTI shook violently with the force of an explosion. Martin cried out in surprise and cold dread shot through him as the fire bell started beeping insistently and the old jet started to bank right.

“Christ! Engine fire, number two engine.”

“Oh god!” Martin froze up for a moment, looking entirely overwhelmed before he seemed to remember his training. “Er, engine fire check list, number two engine.”

Douglas swallowed, forcing himself to focus, for once grateful for Martin’s ‘rotten old ops’. “Engine fire check list, number two engine, Captain. Number two thrust lever?”

“Yes.” Martin replied as he jerked the control column to steady her, the cross wind doing them no favors.

“Closed. Number two fuel control switch?”

“Yes, yes!” GERTI shuddered around them again.

“Number two fuel control switch to cut-off. Number two fire handle check?”

“Yes!”

“Number two fire handle pulled.” The fire bell stopped beeping, but it was already burned into his ears, ringing incessantly over and over. “Number one extinguisher fired, stopwatch started. Fire bell cancelled.”

“Mayday, mayday. Golf Echo Romeo Tango India, suspected bird strike. We have one engine on fire. Request immediate return and priority landing St. Petersburg.” Martin informed ATC, and Douglas couldn’t help but think he sounded more like a captain than he ever had before.

“Golf Tango India, roger your mayday. Continue as cleared, contact Pulkovo, approach one two four decimal two.”

“Roger. One two four decimal two.”

“Good luck.” They were going to need it.

“Fire is out, Captain. One two four decimal two is selected.” Douglas looked at Martin, locking eyes for a moment, and he asked quietly, “Martin, do you want me to land it?”

Martin blinked once, banishing the fear that was swimming in his eyes in favor of grim determination, bolstering his courage and shook his head once. “No. I’ll do it.”

“Okay.” Douglas turned his attention back to the front, and the next few minutes were a blur of buttons and switches and muted fear, and then GERTI’s wheels touched down on the icy runway, jostling them. They bumped up and slammed down again, sliding a little with a great feeling of lack of control, and rolled to a stop that still felt somehow sudden. They sat still in their seats, neither moving because despite the fact they’d stopped it felt like the world was still rushing around them. Douglas shifted back in his seat, letting his eyes roam to Martin, who was still facing forward and holding the control column in a white-knuckled grip.

“Come on, Martin…” he said softly, releasing his seat belt and taking those hands, gently loosening them until they fell away from the controls and fumbled blindly with the seat belt. Douglas knelt down, unclasping the belt and pulling Martin into his arms in a tight hold.

“W-we…Arthur and Carolyn, we…we have to s-see…” Martin stuttered but made no move to stand until Douglas pulled him up, supporting both of their weight for a moment.

“Okay, it’s okay.” Douglas murmured, petting his hand through Martin’s hair, knocking his hat off in the process, the shock wearing off in favor of concern for his boyfriend. He took Martin’s coat, slipping behind him to help him put it on. “Here we go, can’t go out like this.”

The two of them made their way out, stepping through the empty galley into the cabin, where they were met by the paramedics and rushed out into the freezing cold. A gust of wind cut through even the thick parka Douglas was bundled in, the snow pelting his face like tiny bee stings, and he wrapped an arm around Martin’s waist as he guided him towards the building, sparing one last look behind at the emergency crew putting out the fire and the smoke billowing up from GERTI’s starboard engine.

Inside they found Arthur and Carolyn, to their great relief, in the hands of paramedics who were busily disinfecting a few minor scrapes, but for the most part in good health. After the standard checks and multiple assurances that they were fine, the emergency team left the two pilots alone with their shock blankets. Martin was shivering a little, from cold or the unsettling events was unclear.

“Come with me.” Douglas said softly, taking Martin’s hand and tugging him up, guiding him to the loo and turning on one of the sink faucets, splashing some water on his own face while Martin copied his actions. Douglas looked at him full of concern. “Are you alright?”

Martin didn’t answer. Instead he took hold of Douglas’ tie and jerked him down into a needy kiss as if his life depended on it…Douglas understood. What Martin needed, what they both needed, was to know that they were alive, both of them alive. He kissed back with equal fervor, his heart pounding in his ears and breath coming in short gasps. Martin pushed forward, prodding him into the nearest stall and shoving him up against the wall of it, the flimsy material bending for a moment under the force and weight before righting itself and holding.

Martin’s hands were on his belt, pushing his trousers and pants down around his knees with reckless abandon. There was no foreplay, no pretense. As soon as Martin’s trousers pooled around his ankles they were plastered together, hips grinding and thrusting in desperation. The first officer’s hands dipped down under his captain’s arse, lifting him slightly, enough to be able to shift from the questionable cubicle wall to sit on the toilet. Martin shifted on his lap, spreading his knees to straddle him awkwardly, his ankles still tied up in his trousers, but after a moment’s squirming either got comfortable or decided he didn’t care and was pressed tight against him again.

Douglas slipped his hand between them, managing to get his hand wrapped around both of their cocks at the same time, and jerked his hand haphazardly. A storm of tactile sensation built up around them. Soft grunts and moans, undulating hips, warm puffs of breath in the slightly chilled air. Their eyes met and held and Douglas was drowning in those blue depths and suddenly they were both falling or flying, spilling the last shreds of apprehension over Douglas’ hand.

“I love you.” Martin spoke his first coherent words since they landed, his voice nearly cracking. His hands found Douglas’ cheeks and ran over them, over his neck, back up again as he repeated himself like a prayer. “I love you…I love you…”

Douglas wrapped him up tight in his arms, laying feather soft kisses over his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. They stayed there like that and Douglas lost track of time until Martin reluctantly pulled back, both knowing that they had to turn their minds back to the world outside their bubble. They cleaned up in silence and returned to the bench they’d occupied before.

“Here.” Douglas tucked the shock blanket back over Martin’s shoulders. “You stay here, I’m going to send Arthur right over. I’ve got to check on Carolyn.”

Martin nodded mutely and Douglas reluctantly left him, finding Arthur standing near the door bouncing from foot to foot as Carolyn talked to some airport officials.

“Arthur!”

“Hi, Douglas!” Arthur said, his usual cheery nature dimmed slightly in the wake of the landing but still present.

“I’ve got a job for you.” Carolyn shot him a grateful look, no doubt wanting her son gone whilst she discussed the damages but hesitant to send him away after what had just happened. Arthur brightened slightly and nodded, ready to be as helpful as possible. “Martin’s still a bit shaken up from landing the plane, so I want you to-”

“Martin landed it?” Carolyn interrupted with some surprise. Douglas nodded.

“I want you to go get him some coffee and keep him company while I talk with your mother, alright?” he addressed the flight attendant again.

“Right-o, Douglas.” Douglas watched him go before turning to Carolyn.

“How bad is it?” Carolyn just shook her head.

“GERTI needs to be put in a hangar. Douglas?” he nodded, zipping up his coat again and heading out while she turned back to the officials.

While no longer on fire or smoking, it was clear the damage was extensive just looking at the poor old girl. Douglas took his seat, took a deep breath and willed his ears to stop ringing with alarms and the warning lights burned into his retinas to fade. It hadn’t been his first precarious landing, but the experience was different when the man you love is sitting beside you. Self-preservation had seen him through emergency landings in the past, but the feeling didn’t quite equate to the terror that you may be about to lose someone you can’t bear to be without.

“Come on, Richardson, look sharp.” He muttered to himself, doing the routine checks with added care before firing up number one and taxiing to the hangar indicated for him. Before he left the flight deck, his gaze fell upon Martin’s hat, abandoned on the floor beside his seat. He picked it up, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead on the backs of his hands as his fingers tightened on the stiff fabric and gold braid, a strangled sob rising from the back of his throat uninvited. He gulped in several deep breaths, tearing his focus from himself and making himself concentrate on supporting the others. He was Douglas Richardson, he was their anchor, and they needed him now more than ever.

When he returned, he caught the end of Carolyn’s conversation, though the news was no surprise. The engine was irrevocably done in. The two of them walked in amicable silence, finding Martin and Arthur.

“Martin.” Douglas offered him a small smile that he hoped was reassuring and offering him his hat.

“Hello. What’s the news?” Martin gave him a tight smile in return and took his hat, holding it loosely, and relief washed through the first officer that Martin was at least up to talking again.

“Bird strike, as we thought.” Carolyn replied.

“A big one. Probably a goose.” Douglas added.

“Oh no! Is it all right?”

“What, the goose? Yes, Arthur, it’s fine.” He rolled his eyes, letting the sarcasm roll off him in waves. “It’ll have a bit of a headache, but a hell of a story for the goslings.”

“Phew!” Arthur smiled brightly. Surely he was the only person who could be so chipper after an emergency landing. Douglas was relieved when Carolyn finally sent him away for coffee.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Carolyn.” Martin said quietly when it was just the three of them, staring at his hat with a lost expression, and Douglas frowned a little, hoping that wasn’t the younger man expressing that he felt responsible for the actions of a bird.

“Well, we had a longer run than anyone expected, and if we had to go, at least this is landing on Mayfair with a hotel.” Carolyn sighed.

“So, what now? Can we help?” Right now the best he could do was whatever Carolyn needed doing.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, sitting heavily and looking suddenly very small. “I suppose I’ll have to try and find a way of selling an ancient decrepit old plane that’s just been badly beaten in a fight with a goose. Anyone got any ideas?”

“I suppose you could sell it for parts.” Martin said, frowning even as he said it.

“Or, there’s always…”

“No.” Carolyn said instantly, her head whipping up to glare daggers at him for even breathing the beginning of the suggestion.

“Really?” Douglas raised a brow, preparing himself to fight her on this. If she wouldn’t see things practically for herself it was the best thing he could do as her friend to bully her into seeing it and make sure she and Arthur came out of this in the best possible condition.

“He’s not having it.”

“He really wants it.” He replied, eyes begging her to see sense.

“That is exactly why he’s not having it. I am not giving him the satisfaction.” Carolyn said obstinately.

“Who?” Martin looked between the two of them, waiting for an answer.

“Every year, Carolyn gets a call from her ex-husband and former owner of GERTI, trying to persuade her to let him buy it back off her.” He explained.

“Every year? Why does he want it so much?”

“He is unbearably rich.” Carolyn began, pursing her lips. “It used to be his favorite toy and he hated that I got it in the divorce. It’s not that he wants it, he just wants me not to have it.”

“Well, the thing is, Carolyn: at the moment, you also want you not to have it.”

“Coffees!” Arthur announced as he joined them, passing cups around their little circle. “Not have what?”

“GERTI.” Carolyn supplied.

“Ah, are you still worrying about that?” Douglas had to blink before he could respond to that one.

“It’s still nagging at the back of our minds, Arthur, yes.” Douglas resisted the urge to roll his eyes, stepping a little closer to Martin for his own peace of mind until his name came up in the conversation.

“Well, Douglas will sort it out.” Douglas’ jaw dropped an inch.

“How?” Carolyn verbalized his thoughts quite well.

“I don’t know. He’ll think of something clever, like he always does.” Arthur said as if it were obvious.

“Yes, but this isn’t just a little fiddle over a bottle of wine or a bunch of orchids. It’s a quarter of a million pounds. I really don’t think he will this time.”

“Yes he will.” Arthur grinned and Douglas found his ability to speak again.

“Arthur, I won’t. Look, no one has a higher opinion of me than I do, but even I simply do not have the power to conjure up a quarter of a million pounds from nowhere.”

“So, there’s nothing else for it, is there?” Carolyn contributed.

“I don’t think so. Sorry. And I’ve had to put her in a heated hangar, so the longer we wait, the more expensive it gets.” He looked pointedly at Carolyn.

“Fine.” She sighed. “I’ll call him.”

“Now? It’s still five in the morning in Britain.” Martin said.

“Oh yes, well, that’s something.” She smirked antagonistically and stood, walking out of earshot to make the call.

“Who’s she calling?” Arthur asked curiously.

“Your dad.” Whatever Douglas might have been expecting, this reaction hadn’t been it. Arthur’s smile vanished and his eyes grew wide and panicky.

“What? Dad? Why?”

“Well, we think he’s our best chance of selling GERTI.”

“No! No, he can’t have GERTI.” Arthur became even more anxious, if possible.

“Why not?”

“He just shouldn’t have her. A-and anyway, then we wouldn’t have her.”

“Arthur, we keep telling you: we can’t afford to fix her.”

“Yes, but I keep telling you: you’ll do something clever and it’ll be all right.” Arthur responded irritably, the closest Douglas had seen the young boy to snapping since he threw a cake at his aunt.

“What’s he like, then – Mr. Shappey?” Martin asked, tilting his head curiously.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met him either. What’s he like, Arthur?”

“Ooh, he’s, er…” Arthur glanced around at the ceiling, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “He’s, er…He’s, err…”

“Good lord, Martin, I think you’ve broken him.”

“No-no-no,” Arthur held his hands up in what must have been an attempt to reassure them but only made Douglas frown and exchange a worried look with Martin. “It’s just that he’s, err…He’s..errrr…”

“I think…” his frown deepened, “I think what we may be witnessing here is Arthur attempting to describe something with an adjective other than ‘brilliant’.”

“Yeah, no-no, I…I wouldn’t say he was br…I mean, obviously everyone’s br…” Arthur paused and took in a breath. “No, he’s not brilliant. He’s, er…he’s alright.”

“God!” Martin exclaimed, taken aback by the steward’s behavior.

“Yes.” Douglas agreed.

“He must be awful!” Arthur opened his mouth as if to argue but before he could formulate the words Carolyn had rejoined them, her mouth set in a tight frown as she announced that her ex-husband would be arriving shortly. Arthur hit a new level of panic stricken and rushed off to the duty free in search of Toblerones. Carolyn sighed and looked at the light now streaming in through the windows, a reminder that they had been dealing with the aftermath nonstop since six in the morning and it was now approaching ten.

“All right, you two scram as well. Get some lunch – on the company card.”

“Really?” Martin and Douglas gave her matching looks of surprise.

“Well, you did land a plane on one engine. That deserves a treat.” Martin flushed a little and allowed a small proud smile.

“Excellent! Well, I think I saw a sushi place-“

“No, I meant at the crew canteen. You can have sushi when you land it on no engines.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

The two pilots plopped down in uncomfortable plastic seats across from one another with the most unappetizing looking food imaginable. Douglas was just glad Martin was looking more like his old self again, he even allowed Douglas to make him laugh a few times. They continued the rhyming journeys game half-heartedly.

“Do you think she’s really going to sell it to him?” Martin asked suddenly.

“I think she’d better. No one else is going to buy it.” He replied honestly.

“Right, so you’re actually not…” Martin trailed off, eyes searching Douglas’ face.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…You really don’t have a secret plan up your sleeve?” Douglas felt himself shrivel up slightly inside. How could Martin have that much faith in him? Arthur was one thing, he wasn’t exactly grounded in reality. But Martin…it pained him to know he couldn’t deliver on that unwavering trust in his ability to make it all okay.

“Oh, Martin, not you as well…No, I really don’t.”

“No-no-no, I didn’t think you did.” Martin assured him, looking down at his bowl of grey glop. “Just checking, that’s all.”

Their meal, though meager and unappealing, was interrupted by the addition to their table of one Gordon Shappey and his chief engineer. Gordon was a stout man who maintained only the faintest glimmer of familial resemblance to Arthur, hidden beneath a severity and stern set in his features that was so anti of their steward it was hard to ignore. Where Arthur would no doubt have laugh lines when he reached that age, Gordon sported harsher ridges from years of scowling that belied the friendly front he was putting on. If Arthur’s reaction to him hadn’t already, that slithering feeling down Douglas’ back made him immediately distrustful of the man. Still, he had to look out for Carolyn’s best interests now and that meant playing nice.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Hours came and went and Douglas felt the tiredness down to his bones, seeping into every cell. They kept themselves occupied, of course. Browsing through the duty free, making small talk, playing the rhyming journeys game, but for the most part they were quiet, each thinking about what life without MJN entailed. Douglas already knew what it meant for him; he’d had years to go through his alternatives, and if there had been any he wouldn’t be here. Instead, he devoted his thoughts to Gordon Shappey with an intensity that unnerved him a little. What did that man have going on that he felt the need to look up Carolyn’s pilots? What purpose did that serve him? It wasn’t as if that information made the plane any less broken and for sale, and Gordon would be well aware that regardless of that nugget of knowledge Carolyn had a minimum price in mind that she wouldn’t be backing down from.

“We can have it broken up for parts ourselves, if it comes to that.” Carolyn assured Arthur from the front seat of the cab they’d all piled into when Carolyn had finally conceded that there was nothing more they could do today and they all needed their rest.

“Yes. Odd he didn’t realize that.” Douglas mused, more to himself than to the others.

“He just wanted the satisfaction of making his little speech, that’s all. He never wanted the plane.”

“But you always said he desperately wanted the plane.”

“Well, clearly I was wrong.” Carolyn admitted with a small scowl. But Douglas knew her, she was nothing if not shrewd and knowledgeable…there’s no way she’d miscalculated his desire for GERTI. So why would he be feigning disinterest? “Now, Douglas – as soon as we get to the motel, I want you to help me write my little speech for tomorrow morning.”

“What about me?” Martin pouted from his place in the middle seat, squashed between the taller men. Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“Well, all right, you too, but I want it to be unbearably superior and snide, so obviously Douglas is my primary source.” She craned her neck to investigate what Douglas was doing behind her chair as he turned to look out the back window. “Douglas, what are you doing?”

“I’m just checking the taxi’s not being followed.” 

“Why?” Martin asked. If Gordon was researching them, he was suspicious. He was feigning disinterest, he knew they would have to leave for the night. He wanted that plane desperately…Douglas of all people knew what desperation did to a man.

“So we can turn it round and go back to the airport.”

“Why?” Carolyn demanded.

“Oh, just on a whim.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

With Gordon properly ousted and a flight plan filed, Martin and Douglas settled into their respective seats, awaiting permission from the tower to taxi to the runway.

“You go ahead and relax, Martin, I’ll handle this one.” Martin smiled gratefully and leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep breath.

“You have control.”

The flight was a blessedly uneventful one, but by the time they landed in Fitton, Douglas was thoroughly exhausted, and Martin looked about the same. The two pilots walked out to the car park together and Douglas glanced around before pulling Martin close in the shadows and kissing him briefly.

“Come home with me, Martin…” he murmured. It was no time for either of them to be alone.

Martin made no protest, slipping into the passenger’s seat and sleepily joking, “So much for the ban on PDA at the airport.”

Douglas smiled softly at that and drove them home to his flat as fast as he dared, leading Martin to the bedroom where they stripped off their uniforms. Douglas stilled when he noticed Martin freeze, staring at him with a look that wrenched his heart.

“What is it, Martin?” Martin reached a hand out, his fingertips lightly brushing over what had caught his attention. Douglas looked down and noticed for the first time the nasty-looking bruise on his chest, the crisscrossed lines of it clearly marking out where his seat belt had sat, a grim reminder of what might have been. Douglas caught his hand and kissed his fingers softly. “I’m alright.”

Martin buried himself in his arms, finally letting it all hit him in a way it hadn’t before, his shoulders shaking with sobs he had held back before. Douglas swallowed, lifting Martin a few inches off the ground to get them both into bed and letting one hand brush through ginger curls while the other drew soothing circles on his back.

“It’s okay…I’ve got you…” he whispered softly against his boyfriend’s ear until the shaking stopped and his breathing evened.

~~  
Douglas closed his eyes, prepared to let sleep take him as well, and was assaulted with lights and alarms ringing behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes again, glanced at the soft curls on his shoulder, tried to focus on the comforting warmth of Martin tucked against his side. His eyes fluttered closed again, and the icy runway was looming up out of the darkness, GERTI shuddering around them. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, willing the memories away, but unbidden new imagery took its place. Martin, his seatbelt snapped by shrapnel still sticking in the captain’s chair, slumped over the wreckage of the controls, his hair matted with blood… Douglas opened his eyes and sucked in a harsh breath, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He looked down at Martin, still sleeping unawares, the vivid picture of mortality slowly fading away with each soft rise and fall of the younger man’s chest. Careful not to wake him, the first officer slipped out of bed and made his way to the loo, taking a long look in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, haggard and haunted, a thin layer of sweat on his brow.  
~~

“Come on, Richardson…” he breathed as he splashed some water on his face, “get a hold of yourself.”

“Douglas…?” Martin murmured sleepily from the nest of blankets when he returned to the room.

“Sorry, love, I’m here…go back to sleep.” He kissed Martin’s forehead gently and watched as the younger man drifted off again easily. Douglas didn’t sleep that night.

[][][][][][][][][][]

When Martin blinked his eyes open the next morning, he was greeted by a surprising spread of breakfast treats on all sides, heavenly smells curling up from each plate to tantalize his nose, reminding him how hungry he was, having only picked at the sparse offerings of St. Petersburg’s airport.

“Goodness,” he yawned, sitting up. “You’ve been busy.”

“Carolyn called a while ago, said she was giving us the next two days off, I thought that called for celebration.” Douglas responded, giving him a quick kiss before loading up a plate. “What do you say to a lazy two days in?”

“Sounds brilliant.” Martin sighed with a light smile, picking out his own breakfast from the offerings. “How are you feeling?”

“I was a captain for thirteen years, Martin, it was hardly my first emergency landing.” Martin lowered his fork slightly, his attention now on Douglas with a worry behind his eyes, having picked up on some small tell of the first officer’s.

“…I meant your chest.” He said carefully, his eyes sliding down to where the bruise lay hidden underneath a thin layer of cotton.

“Oh.” Douglas shifted a little uncomfortably under Martin’s questioning gaze, not used to being read so easily. “It’s fine, nothing time won’t heal. What about you?” Martin seemed to consider the matter before letting it drop and agreeing to the shift in focus.

“I’m…surprisingly fine, actually.” He sipped his cup of tea. “I mean…it was horrible, and for a moment I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought now, does it? I did it. I landed the plane…” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Now that I’ve processed it…well, it’s a bit brilliant, isn’t it?” Douglas smiled back at him and took a sip of his own extremely strong coffee.

“You were remarkable, darling.” Martin beamed at the compliment, and the question of whether Douglas was alright was forgotten for the time being.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas was not alright. Martin had popped out to retrieve a few necessities from his attic, leaving the first officer trying to focus on the letters swimming over the pages of his book in solitude. He started to drift, his eyes slipping shut of their own accord.

~~  
Martin slung back in his chair, his lifeless corpse pinned by twisted metal. Martin flung from the flight deck, half of his face covered in burns as they went down in flames. Martin on a cold metal table, his lifeless eyes staring up into nothingness in a lonely morgue. Martin Crieff written across a stone slab, a grave marker that made a mockery of the man who captured Douglas’ heart. Martin, Martin, Martin.  
~~

The phone rang, slamming Douglas back into reality forcefully. He fumbled with it for a moment. Emily. His hands trembled as he accepted the call.

“Hello, darling.” He willed the tremor out of his voice, her cheerful chatter lifting his weary heart. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

Martin made chicken soup that night. Douglas was still not alright.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“You didn’t sleep last night.” Martin said quietly the next morning, his stormy eyes searching Douglas’ hazel ones.

“Emily called yesterday.” Douglas redirected, not missing Martin’s frown.

“Stop changing the subject.”

“She’s playing a part in a musical in two weeks and wanted to invite you to the production.” Douglas pressed on resolutely.

“She…” Martin made a frustrated noise. “Of course, I’ll be there, but I’m serious, Douglas, what’s wrong?”

Douglas bristled and shut his eyes for a moment, a habit to draw up his patience, but Martin’s limp body flashed behind his eyes and he stood abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.” Martin planted himself firmly between Douglas and the door, standing as tall as he could, which still put him firmly below eye level.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t!” 

“Yes, I am.” Douglas replied petulantly. Martin stamped his foot and turned slightly, looking like he might give up for a moment before drawing himself back up to his full height and rounding on the first officer again, raising his voice.

“Would you stop being a git and let me help you?!” Martin started to pace, ranting all the way. “No, of course not, because you’re Douglas bloody Richardson and you don’t need anyone! You can walk away from…f-from anything and anyone and…God damn it, Douglas! I just want to be there for you! Why won’t you let me?!”

Douglas felt his composure snap and he shouted back, “Because I don’t know how!” He turned his back, running his hands through his hair and lowering his voice. “I don’t know how to ask for help, Martin…I ca…I can’t…” his voice cracked a little. “I’m Douglas Richardson, I’m supposed to be…”

“…a sky god?” Martin murmured softly, his voice small now that the fight was knocked out of him. Arms enveloped Douglas from behind and he could feel Martin rest his head against his back. “It’s okay to not be okay…”

They stayed like that for what felt like forever, Martin patiently waiting for Douglas to work up to a response, and the older man realized that he’d never had this before…a relationship of balance. He had loved his wives, but he couldn’t imagine sharing a moment of vulnerability with them like this. He had carefully built up his reputation and they had always remained firmly on the other side of that wall, witness to the glamour and the strength but not the weakness. He took a deep, steadying breath.

“I have been flying for thirty-six years, and not once have I been so…shaken. The first time I performed an emergency landing, I went to bed that night and slept like a baby.” The first officer paused, let that sink in. “But I can’t stop imagining what might have happened to you…and, darling, I’m not okay.”

Martin shifted around him until they were finally face to face again, keeping one arm in contact with him as he went. His left hand went to his collar in an almost subconscious fashion, fiddling with the pilot’s wings pin there. Like the signet ring forever on his finger, the pin hadn’t come off of his clothes since he’d gotten it.

“Remember what you said when you gave me this?” he asked, but pressed on before Douglas could respond. “I know, I know, you were just being romantic, but…well, I think it does bring good fortune. I’ve got a little bit of that Richardson luck with me, so I’m going to be just fine.”

The captain leaned up and gave him a small kiss. “Now, let’s get you into bed, you need to at least try to get some rest.” Martin marched him into the bedroom and the two settled in, Douglas feeling a little lighter than he had. Still, reassurances don’t fix everything overnight and the first officer woke up repeatedly throughout the day with no sign of getting better. But every time he shot up in bed or opened his eyes all tense muscles and stress lines, Martin was there to card a hand through his hair and murmur softly to him.

“You’re not going to be in hours for your solo flight tomorrow like this...” Martin said finally as evening was starting to set in. “You’re absolutely exhausted. Tell you what, I’ll swap with you, tomorrow’s flight for my solo to Glasgow at the end of the month.”

“Alright, Martin…thanks.” Douglas heaved a sigh, too tired to argue and certain that Martin wouldn’t accept his arguments even if he could think of any. His complacency seemed to worry the younger man further and Martin kissed his forehead lightly.

“I’m just going to call Carolyn and let her know.” He slipped out of the bedroom and cracked the door behind him, his muffled murmuring indistinct through the wood as he made the call. Douglas stared at the ceiling for a while, yawned, and flopped over, groaning a little and wishing he could just sleep before realizing he needed to piss. Kicking off the covers, he headed to the loo, but paused in the doorway when he caught Martin’s conversation.

“Hello, Mrs. Thomas? This is Icarus Removals. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it tomorrow morning as planned, I’ve had a family emergency…yes, I’m very sorry for the late cancellation, and I’ll be happy to come at your earliest convenience tomorrow evening or Saturday, free of charge.” Douglas felt his heart constrict. Martin was cancelling a paying job because of him…and what’s more, Martin had referred to him as family. He closed the door to the en suite behind him and leaned against it, taking in a few deep breaths as he tried to wrap his mind around that. Oh, Martin…Douglas smiled despite himself and scrubbed a hand over his face. The depth of the emotions that welled up inside him was more than he could handle in his sleep deprived state.

When he did finally leave the loo, having attended his needs, he wrapped Martin up in his arms, squeezing him tight. He wished that he could tell Martin everything he felt for him, make him understand how much he loved and appreciated him.

“What’s all this about?” Martin asked with a pleasantly surprised expression, hugging back.

“I just wanted you to know…I will get better.”

And he did. It just took a few days’ time.


	13. Timbuktu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW.
> 
> Uskerty will be coming to your monitors on the 18th so stay tuned! Thanks to all who read and review and thanks to sungmee for beta!

“Come in!” Martin called in response to the rapping at his attic door. Douglas entered and climbed up the steep stairs, spotting Martin at his computer playing flight simulator. He casually strolled over, draping his arms over Martin’s slim shoulders.

“I’ve no idea how you can stand doing that.” Martin leaned back against him and tilted his head backwards to smile up at the taller man, mussing his curls against Douglas’ abdomen.

“Have a good time?” Douglas leaned down to plant a kiss on Martin’s lips.

“As good as any house-warming party…I caught up with my brother, exchanged pleasantries with a few old friends, single-handedly fended off the advances of every unattached woman in Manchester…which wasn’t all that difficult, they’re ghastly.” Martin chuckled and sighed contently as Douglas played with his hair.

“I confess though that I have ulterior motives for stopping by today other than to ravish you and watch you squirm trying not to make too much noise.” Douglas grinned. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to the rugby world cup with me. You see, I was chatting with an old friend of mine who owes me a favor and he mentioned he could wrangle up a ticket for my plus one…I know you don’t really appreciate the entertainment of watching men knock each other’s teeth out, but it would be nice to have the company.”

Martin linked their hands together, entwining their fingers. “I wouldn’t say I don’t appreciate sports…I just find it much more entertaining when there’s less tooth-knocking and more half-dressed Douglas.” He smiled fondly at the memory of Douz, stood, and used one hand at the back of Douglas’ neck to pull him into a kiss, sucking on his lower lip slightly when it ended. “Do your ravishing plans include staying the night?”

“They do now.” Douglas smirked, pleasantly surprised that Martin was amenable to letting him sleep over. Martin’s attic flat was usually resigned to quickies and innocent time spent together, while Douglas’ place was the obvious choice for their overnight rendezvous since it offered more privacy. Maybe this was a sign that Martin was coming around to the notion of bringing their relationship out into the open at last.

A sound came from Martin’s computer and a light came to his eyes.

“Douglas…I’ve got an idea.” Martin said with a grin.

“Oh?”

“A test, if you will…” he nudged Douglas to sit at his desk. “Let’s see how much of a sky god you really are.” He tapped a few things into the program and handed the controls to Douglas.

“…Okay, I’ll say it. I don’t understand.”

“You just focus on not crashing, and I’ll make you fly.” Martin sank down and put a hand on each of the older man’s knees, spreading them. Douglas’ jaw dropped an inch as Martin unzipped his trousers and paused, looking up at him through his lashes. “Fly the plane.”

Douglas tore his eyes from that frankly astonishing view and tried to focus on the monitor before him. Martin pulled his half-hard cock out of his pants and his breath hitched, eyes flickering down again. Martin froze, giving him a pointed look.

“Christ…” Douglas breathed, looking at the screen again and trying to orient himself to the computer controls and not think about Martin’s long fingers working their way up and down his length or the warm gust of breath that blew over the head. The younger man kept his touch light and almost ghost like for the embarrassingly long half hour it took Douglas to work out the basics enough to achieve lift off, and when he finally did get the plane in the air he almost took it right back down into the ground when Martin’s lips finally parted around his tip and his tongue dragged over the underside. His grip tightened on the mouse and he let out a shaky breath.

“Don’t crash.” Martin murmured from below and Douglas felt his lips curve up into a smile against his aching hard-on. Then his lips parted again and he took the first few inches into the heat of his mouth. The plane banked left and Douglas did his best to correct it. Martin’s tongue swept across the frenulum and Douglas jerked a little, falling against the chair back and nearly crashing the plane again.

“God, Martin…” He panted, looking down at his boyfriend who immediately pulled back and looked up at him demurely. “This is so unfair…” He grumbled, looking up just in time to prevent the virtual plane from going into the side of a mountain. Martin returned that beautiful mouth to his shaft, settling into an almost rhythm. His teeth lightly grazed the sensitive skin and Douglas bit his lip but couldn’t hold back a whimper. His left hand moved of its own accord, sifting into ginger curls and holding him closer.

“I thought…oh, fuck, Martin…I thought I was the one doing the ravishing…” Martin took him in deep and hummed in response and Douglas lost his ability to think coherently. His other hand swept into Martin’s hair and his hips bucked up, his eyes squeezing shut. The biggest orgasm he could remember ever having snapped through him, setting every nerve ending on fire. Fireworks burst behind his eyes and the sound of the virtual plane exploding became part of the moment. A shudder wracked his body and he gulped in a fresh breath, blinked his eyes open, and released his grip on Martin’s curly locks, petting one hand through his hair.

“Oh, God…” Martin snickered and shifted up to eye height, making sure to drag his lithe body over the length of Douglas’ as he did so. Douglas smiled tiredly in response to how incredibly pleased with himself Martin looked and kissed him languidly. “I should have guessed you’d have an aeroplane fetish…is there more where that came from?”

Martin flushed pink but simply nuzzled into Douglas’ neck in response, hiding his face. Douglas grinned wolfishly.

“Oh, there is...let me guess, I bend you over the controls and have my wicked way with you? Or maybe,” he paused for effect. “It’s the other way around.” Martin’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly and Douglas’ grin widened. “That’s it, isn’t it…sir.”

“You sod.” Martin kissed him heatedly, grinding himself against Douglas’ knee.

“Where’s your hat?” Douglas asked when they broke the kiss for air.

“What?” Martin blinked at him, groaning a little when Douglas pressed his leg up between the younger man’s, increasing the pressure.

“Your hat…captain.” Martin’s eyes darkened lustfully despite the red flush to his cheeks and he shifted off of Douglas’ lap. He made a face and dug the heel of his hand against his no doubt painful erection before grabbing his hat off a hook nearby and putting it on. Douglas stared for a minute at the picture Martin made with his tousled curls sticking out haphazardly and his face flushed, Cupid ’s bow lips pink and swollen. Douglas reached out and pulled Martin forward by the hips so he was standing in the space between his legs and looked up at him, noting Martin’s more subtle facial cues that said he liked the new height difference. Martin stared down at him for a moment before seeming to realize it was his cue to take command and leaning down just enough to breath into Douglas’ ear.

“Bend over.” Douglas shivered at the unexpected sultry tone and did as he was told, standing and bending over the desk. Martin’s hands made their way to his waist, pushing his clothes down to pool around his ankles, and he heard the snap of a bottle opening. He started to turn his head but Martin had predicted that and was right there at his ear. “Eyes forward, Richardson.”

Douglas moaned softly when he felt Martin’s long thin index finger breach him. While Martin had only gained in confidence since their relationship had taken on a more physical level, he’d never been quite so dominant in the bedroom before. He wondered if it was the fact that they were in Martin’s space or if it was more tied to the younger man’s jumped up ideas about captains. Either way, he wasn’t complaining when Martin added a second finger.

“Martin…” He groaned when he felt the captain’s other hand reach down to gently cup his balls.

“That’s ‘captain’ or ‘sir’ to you.” Douglas could hear Martin’s grin and chuckled in response.

“Yes, sir.” He purred back and was rewarded with a light smack on the arse. He groaned at the loss of Martin’s fingers and heard the snap of the cap on the bottle of lube again, followed by the sound of Martin’s zip being undone, and then those fingers were back, pressing into him.

“Hey chief,” Douglas growled after another fifteen minutes of Martin being agonizingly careful preparing him. “I might be wrong, but I think I need your cock up my arse right now. One thing you could do is put it in already. How does that sound to ohhh!” Douglas cried out a little in surprise as Martin sank into him to the hilt.

“Like that?” Martin pulled out and thrust back in deep, earning a gasp. He thrust again, hard and slow, but his patience didn’t last long and he was soon driving himself into Douglas with increasing momentum. “Oh, Douglas…Fuck…”

“God, I love it when you talk like that…” Douglas moaned.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…” Martin grunted with every thrust, his grip on Douglas’ hips tightening. “So close…”

“Christ, don’t stop.” Douglas breathed raggedly. Martin let out a strangled moan and tensed, coming in hot bursts inside him.

“Holy hell, Martin…” the first officer gulped in much needed oxygen. Martin pulled out of him and he turned around, pulling Martin into a breathtaking kiss.

“Oh, God, you didn’t…” Martin broke the kiss frantically when he felt Douglas’ erection bump against him. Douglas caught his hand as he reached for it.

“I don’t think I have another in me after that.” Douglas smiled and kissed his hand, trailing light kisses up his arm to his neck. Martin laughed a little as Douglas’ nose tickled him slightly.

“Do you really like it when I curse?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“We’ve just started the descent, Carolyn, so about twenty minutes?” Martin estimated, glancing at Douglas for confirmation. Douglas nodded his agreement.

“Excellent. Now, Douglas, I am having lunch with Herc. Can you give Arthur a lift home?” Carolyn asked.

“Sorry. Happy though I am to pick up the pieces around your hectic love life, I’m afraid as soon as we land I’m driving to Twickenham. I’ve got tickets for the rugby World Cup final.” Douglas smiled internally at the thought of spending a day sharing something he loved with the man that he loved. Martin shot him a look and he realized he had said tickets…in the plural. Luckily he was saved from possible questions by Arthur, who demanded to know why there wasn’t a Birling Day this year, and Douglas didn’t think anyone else noticed his slip.

“Oh, no. I love Birling Day.” Arthur lamented.

“Me too.” Martin nodded in agreement.

“Do you?” Douglas asked, raising a brow.

Well, no, but I could do with the money.” 

“True. And I wouldn’t say no to a free bottle of Talisker.”

“The bottles of expensive whisky I provide for Mr. Birling’s exclusive use are not ‘free’, Douglas. They are stolen from me.”

“And therefore free to me.” The verbal sparring match was interrupted before it could get really interesting by Martin talking to ATC, most likely purposely timed to keep them from arguing. Not that Douglas minded, soon he’d be cheering and watching the match with Martin at his side…or so he thought. Upon landing, they had no choice but to wait outside of Carolyn’s office for the news on why Mr. Birling was there.

“He wants to go to Timbuktu.” Carolyn said as she shut the door behind her, leaning back against it.

“He wants to what?” Martin squawked.

“When?” Douglas asked at the same time.

“He wants to go to Timbuktu…right now.” She still looked like she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“Well he’s bang out of luck, isn’t he? It’s my day off and I have plans.”

“He’s paying double plus tips, we’re doing this.” Carolyn said with finality. Douglas was about to argue more when Martin coughed.

“Douglas, operational matter?”

“Don’t let her bully you, Martin.” Douglas said when they were outside and out of earshot.

“I’m not, it’s just…” Martin made a face and spoke hesitantly. “I need the money. The van broke down a few days ago, and I’ve had to order a new part and…well, it really dug into my emergency fund.”

Douglas frowned. He hated how useless he felt when money matters came into play. Martin was fiercely independent and was easily offended if he suspected someone was trying to help him financially. Douglas respected that but it was still difficult to watch Martin work himself into exhaustion and squirrel away pennies for a rainy day…especially when the rainy day rolled around and there was nothing Martin would let him do to help.

“I guess we’re going to Timbuktu.” He sighed. Martin smiled gratefully.

“Thanks, Douglas…I’m sorry about the game.”

“Not to worry, I’ll sort something out with the tickets. Either way I’m spending the day in good company…now, you go sort out the flight plan, I’ll see about getting her refilled.” Martin nodded and rushed off to do so and Douglas went to chat with the ground crew, giving them the order for refueling. He was just in the process of negotiating prices for offloading the rugby tickets when Arthur bounded over merrily.

“Douglas! Can I help?”

“Arthur, I’m busy.”

“What are you doing, maybe I can help!” Arthur chirped.

“I’m selling my tickets to the rugby, and seeing as the last time you sold something was when you gave me a fiver for a quid, I don’t think I want that sort of help.”

“Who were you going to watch the rugby with?” the steward asked curiously.

“…On second thought, I could use your help, Arthur.”

“Brilliant! What can I do?”

“I need you to go into Fitton and find me a book about Timbuktu.”

“Right-o, Douglas!” Arthur raced off to the parking area.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“All right, how are we doing? Where are the others?” Carolyn asked as she shut the door to her office behind her, looking like she was about ready to commit murder if she had to spend much more time entertaining Mr. Birling.

“Fine. Martin’s panically filing a flight plan, and I’ve sent Arthur into Fitton to buy a book about Timbuktu.”

“What on earth for?”

“He’s in a helpful mood.”

“Yes, but why do you need a book?”

“I don’t. I need a temporary absence of Arthur in a helpful mood.” Douglas replied, adding sourly, “And I have just given away a ticket to watch the Cup Final in Twickenham in order that I can fly two and a half thousand miles to the heart of Africa and watch it there.” He was careful to only mention a single ticket this time. Carolyn was much harder to distract than Arthur, especially when she sensed she was being distracted intentionally. Carolyn was also not very sympathetic to his annoyance at missing out on the big game. Again before a real argument could get underway about the Talisker, Martin burst in with his impeccable timing, informing them of a snag in their plan. Timbuktu was closed to all air traffic.

“Fine. I knew it was too good to be true. Who’s going to tell Birling?” Carolyn sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was spend another minute in her office with him.

“Wait! Hang on, we can’t just give up!” Martin said desperately.

“Well, you’re the one who said it was unsolvable.” The CEO pointed out.

“By me, not by you two. There must be something we can do.” He sighed and looked lost for a moment. “Oh, I could really use that two thousand quid.”

“I know, I know, but what can we do?” Douglas began to wonder if his financial situation was in more dire straits than he’d let on earlier.

“Well, I don’t…I don’t suppose…I don’t suppose there’s anywhere that’s a bit like Timbuktu?” Martin asked hesitantly, adopting the same tone he’d used when suggesting they be there-but-not-there for Emily’s birthday party all that time ago.

“What, you mean also famous for being far away?” Carolyn asked, nonplussed.

“No-no-no, I didn’t mean that. I mean, like, it…as in…looks like it, a bit, if you didn’t really know much about Timbuktu.”

“Martin?!” Carolyn squawked in shock.

“Martin!” Douglas exclaimed, intensely impressed.

“No, I know, I know, I didn’t mean it. I’m just…I’m just trying to, you know, come up with ideas.” Martin said in frustration.

“No, Martin! That’s inspired!” Douglas face split into a grin.

“Is it?” Martin asked tentatively.

“You’re a genius! An unexpectedly evil genius!” Douglas explained the finer points of the plan that was now formulating in his head. It was simple, really.

“No, but that’s fraud!” Martin hissed frantically.

“Isn’t it, though?” Douglas couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s why I’m so delighted you suggested it.”

“I didn’t mean…I-I wasn’t seriously…” Martin sputtered.

“Oh, don’t spoil it!” He liked this side of Martin. He wondered if in a parallel universe a typically evil Martin had just suggested something safe and legal. Carolyn was the next one to bid in protest, but once the logistics were dealt with she hesitantly agreed on condition that they got Mr. Birling really, really drunk.

“That’s the spirit! And, of course, that’s where the twenty-five year old Talisker will come in so handy.”

“Oh, no, please, you two…no Talisker stuff! Not if we’re actually gonna do this.” Martin fretted.

“Would you care to take one bottle, madam, or two?” Douglas asked.

“I will take none, you greedy thief. He’ll just have to make do with our other options.” Carolyn said obstinately.

“And when that fails, would you like one bottle or two?”

“Douglas, operational matter.” Martin said quickly.

“You two think I don’t know that’s code for having a private chat but I do.” Carolyn rolled her eyes. Something crashed in her office. “Just file a flight plan and get on with it.” And with that, she braced herself and went to see what Mr. Birling had broken in his drunkenness.

“What is it this time, Martin?” Douglas asked when he was certain they were alone.

“I’m serious about the Talisker.”

“As am I. Don’t worry, she’ll crack long before I do.”

“But she’s going to pull me into it! You know she is, look at what happened last Birling Day. So just…look, if you really must do this, then we’re going to do it right.”

“Martin?” Douglas blinked in surprise.

“Obviously you don’t want to lose the Talisker and she doesn’t want to pay you for it, but to get me to help she’s going to have to offer an incentive, so…so…”

“So we set up a decoy! Martin, that’s brilliant! You’re two for two today on evil plans, whatever’s gotten into you?” Douglas was definitely rubbing off on Martin. Martin smiled with a hesitant sort of pride.

“Thank you, Douglas.”

And so began the most backwards Birling Day since Birling Day became a tradition. They flew away from the rugby, Mr. Birling got soberer and soberer, and Arthur ruined everything with his knowledge and erudition…but Douglas still won the Talisker. Some things never change.


	14. Uskerty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, brief notes today. The scene following recorded canon is taken from John Finnemore's blog and is in fact an actual deleted scene that never made the final cut. Next chapter will be Vaduz and should be posted on the 21st, however I've become unexpectedly busy since school began so it may end up being late. I will try my very hardest to get it up on schedule though! Thanks to you readers and to sungmee for her invaluable beta-ship!

“Aww, Douglas, can we? Please?” Arthur shot him the infamous puppy eyes, and the father in him couldn’t help but cave.

“One quick one.” Douglas said, resigning himself to his fate.

“Yes!” Arthur jumped into the air triumphantly, bouncing ahead of him into the bar. They took their seats on barstools and the first officer settled himself in comfortably, noting with mild amusement how Arthur’s gaze flickered over him and he adjusted himself in his seat to mimic Douglas’ pose.

“I’ll have mine on the rocks, Gerry.”

“What’s it mean, Douglas? ‘On the rocks’?”

“It means ‘with ice’.” Douglas explained tiredly. “Dare I ask what you’ve been serving the passengers when they order their drinks?”

“Oh…I thought it meant something to do with actual rocks, which mum won’t let me put in the galley.” Arthur said brightly before talking to Gerry. “No rocks for mine, please. I don’t like it when the ice hits my nose.”

“Straight up, then.” Douglas corrected.

“Straight what?”

“Your drink, you don’t want ice but you want it cold, so when you order you say you’d like it straight up.”

Arthur gave him a blinding smile before sitting up straighter and affecting a composed air as he said, “Straight up, please.”

Snoopy vs. the Red Baron started to play out of Douglas’ pocket and he smiled a little as he answered, “Hello?”

“Douglas! It’s me.” Martin exclaimed from the other end, sounding slightly out of breath and a lot out sorts.

“Hello, Martin. Are you back?”

“Er, no. We got thrown out of a taxi and now I’m up a tree.” Douglas tried to visualize that in his head and found it surprisingly easy.

“Gosh. Quite a powerful throw.”

“Can you sent out another taxi?”

“Certainly. What’s the address?”

“The address?”

“Yes. Where d’you want the cab sent?”

“To-to us. To where we are. It’s-it’s a road, i-in the rain, uh, with a tree.”

“Hmm…” Douglas mused, picking a loose thread off of his sleeve. “Are you hearing the problem?”

“Come on!” Martin sounded like he was starting to panic.

“All right. Well…what can you see from there? Maybe we can work out where you are.”

“Right. Er…well…there’s fields…and more trees, and, um…ooh, this way there’s a…there’s a bee.”

“I think we may need slightly more reliable landmarks than individual insects.”

“S-several bees…Ooh. Ooh. Ooh! Ooh! Bees! Carolyn! A lot of lot of lot of bees! Er, i-in the dead branch! A lot!” Douglas frowned. He could hear Carolyn in the background but couldn’t make out the words.

“No. I don’t think I should move. I don’t think the bees would like it! I think I’ll just keep very still, and maybe the bees will forget me!” Martin whispered loudly in response and Carolyn said something indistinct in the background again.

“Martin,” Douglas began, using his serious tone. “Are you allergic to bee stings?”

“No.” Martin replied, then whimpered a little as no doubt a bee had landed on him. “Look, I-I-I’ve got to go.” The call ended before Douglas could respond.

“Oh, he’s rung off.”

“Are they alright?” Arthur asked.

“Yes. They seem to have stopped off to climb a tree.”

“Oh. I’d have loved that.” Arthur moaned in disappointment.

“Here we are, gentlemen. One pineapple juice on the rocks; one pineapple juice straight up.” Gerry announced, placing their classes in front of them.

“Cheers.” Douglas held his glass up.

“Cheers!” Arthur excitedly clinked their glasses together, looking more enthused than usual. They each took a drink and Douglas sighed in satisfaction as he lowered his glass.

“That’s the stuff.”

“Is it?”

“Not remotely, but it’s nice to pretend now and again.” Some sick, twisted part of him missed that nirvana that came from a night of drinking. Not having to think, not caring to worry, and just letting oneself slip down the edge and fall. It was the hitting rock bottom that hurt. He set his glass down warily.

“Cocktail olive?” Gerry offered.

“Don’t mind if I do, Gerry.” Douglas took one and popped it into his mouth, glad for the distraction from the dark road his thoughts had been taking.

“Don’t mind if I do either, Gerry.” Arthur tried to mimic his nonchalant tone but made a face when he bit into it. “Eurgh! Oh, it turns out I mind a lot!”  
Douglas smiled and shook his head a little, sipping his juice thoughtfully.

“I think Skip is dating someone.” Douglas nearly spat out his drink but managed to keep the outward appearance of calm.

“What makes you think that?”

“Ipswich. Skip is showing all five of the signs of being in love!”

Douglas hummed a little and took another sip of his drink before asking, “What sort of person do you think Martin would date?”

“Oh, um…” Arthur looked thoughtful. “Well, probably someone younger than him.”

“Oh…really.”

“Yep, because he likes being the captain and someone younger would probably treat him more captain-y.”

“Mmm…what else?”

“Definitely someone shorter than him. Cause then he could be tall!” Arthur said brightly. “And-“

“Yes, I think I’ve heard quite enough, Arthur.” Douglas interrupted grouchily, draining the last of his glass.

“May I freshen your juices, gentlemen?” Gerry asked.

“Oh, why not? Let’s live a little.”

“This is great!” Arthur declared.

“Good vintage, is it?”

“No, I mean this, you know – two guys, sitting in a bar, couple of drinks, box of those black paper napkins that always look really cool; like we’re in a film.” Arthur explained. “I feel like I should have a hat.”

“God knows, Arthur, you have a hat.” Douglas looked pointedly at the green monstrosity sitting on Arthur’s other side on the bar.

“No, but I mean one of those ones with the dent they used to wear in black and white times. Gerry, could you, er, could you polish a glass?”

“Oh, have I given you a dirty one?” Gerry asked with concern.

“No, no. I just think it would look good. And then, Douglas, we should be saying things like, you know, ‘Hey you guy. The dames, eh?’” Arthur used his hands as puppets as he mimed out the scene, moving his thumbs to indicate their mouths moving. “’Yeah, the dames. Stupid dames. You had any luck with the horses?’ ‘No, the horses are all…idiots. You know, between the dames and the horses, sometimes I don’t even know why I put my hat on.’” He lowered his hands and gave Douglas an ear-splitting grin. “That’s how they talk in bars, isn’t it?”

“…No, Arthur…That’s not how anyone talks…anywhere.” Arthur’s face fell and Douglas felt a stab of guilt. He forgot sometimes how much Arthur was like a child, forever seeking approval.

“Oh, right…So…how-how do they…?” Arthur looked so very lost all of a sudden. “I mean, I’ve never really been to a…What sort of things do they say?”

Suddenly, Douglas realized Arthur had never had someone teach him how to behave in bars. His father had never been there to guide him through the sacred rite of passage. He was nearly thirty years old and no one had taught him how to order a drink or invited him along on a pub crawl. Douglas could relate, in a way. His own father had died when he was still very small, leaving him to learn the ropes on his own. He imagined it was harder when your father was still alive and just didn’t care enough to be there. A sense of paternal duty overtook him.

“I don’t know. You just ask about each other’s lives.”

“Oh, okay. Right. Er…” Arthur thought for a moment. “So, do you miss your ex-wife?”

“What?!” Arthur winced and looked panicked for a moment, leaning backwards to put a few more inches of distance between them.

“No! No!”

“You don’t…” Douglas’ brow creased at the almost defensive gesture of Arthur’s arms. They hadn’t come up yet but the subconscious movement had put them in a position to be able to at a moment’s notice…Oh, Arthur…had Gordon really…? Douglas pulled back his tone. “Not like that.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Arthur shrank in his seat.

“You don’t talk about anything. You-you just…I dunno, you-you joke. You moan about sport. You-you tease each other. It’s terrific.”

“I don’t know about sport. Um, I could tease you though. I’d like to be better at teasing.”

“Well, you can’t just-“

“Honestly, Douglas, you silly great…man. Look at you with your hair all…straight.” Arthur paused. “It’s not easy, is it?”

“Apparently not.”

“I ju…I just don’t know the sort of things people say.” Arthur scrunched his face, thinking hard.

“Yes you do. You’ve heard me tease Martin hundreds of times.”

“Oh, right, okay. Er…” Arthur drew himself up a few inches, straightening his back and looking down his nose at Douglas, trying to affect Douglas’ tone. “I notice Sir isn’t terribly tall today.”

“…Yes, that’s better…of course, I am quite tall.” Too tall to be dating Martin, according to Arthur.

“Oh, damn! It’s, it’s just really difficult with you. There’s-there’s nothing to make fun of.” Arthur said, giving Douglas an honest and admiring look. Douglas stared back at him, mentally cataloguing his own flaws. He could practically hear Herc’s voice in his head poking fun at him. “What?”

“I’m a fifty-seven year old first officer with three ex-wives and I’m drinking sodding pineapple juice.” And in a secret relationship with a man he was apparently too old and too tall for.

“I know. So?” Arthur tilted his head in confusion.

“…Nothing. You know, I think maybe you should give up on teasing. It’s not really your thing.”

“Okay.” Arthur visibly deflated.

“If it helps, you are excellent at being teased.” He instantly perked up.

“Oh, really? Am I?”

“Oh, first rate!” Douglas patted him on the back. “Second only to Martin. He’s the master.”

“Aww, thanks, Douglas!” Arthur said, chuffed. “And-and maybe if I practice, I could get as good as him.”

“As good as Martin? I’m afraid not. He always goes the extra mile. The man just phoned me from up a tree.” Arthur laughed and they settled into comfortable silence for a moment.

“Do you think it’s Martin?” Arthur asked out of the blue.

“Do I think what’s Martin?” Douglas asked in confusion.

“That Martin’s dating.”

“I wouldn’t call a relationship with one’s hand dating, no, Arthur…and I’m a little surprised you came up with that.”

“No, I mean paramount Martin.”

“What about him?”

“Do you think Martin’s dating him? Only I saw them exchanging numbers after the flight.” Douglas saw white for a moment.

“What?” he growled.

“Er…they exchanged numbers…?” Arthur repeated tentatively. “I just thought…well…wouldn’t it be brilliant…cause they have the same name…” Arthur’s voice got quite small.

“Yes, well, bully for them.” Douglas said darkly, tossing the last of his juice down his throat. He'd never considered himself a jealous man, but it seemed Helena's betrayal had struck him deeper than he'd initially realized. “Gerry, two more pineapple juices over here.”

“Er, d’you not think maybe you’ve had enough?” Gerry asked, sharing a worried glance with Arthur.

“No I don’t.”

“Only they’re quite acidic. You can get yourself a stomach ulcer.”

“Don’t worry, Gerry. We can handle our juice.” The sound of approaching footsteps turned his attention to the door and Carolyn rounded the bend already demanding they rush to get ready for takeoff. Martin trailed behind her, hard on her heels and looking an absolute wreck. The jealous haze that had clouded his vision dissipated instantly at the sight before him. Douglas wasn’t sure which part of the state he was in to address first.

“Douglas, quick. I need your help.” The younger man said frantically. He was drenched to the bone, his clothes hanging heavily off him.

“Martin…Good lord, you’re soaking wet.”

“Yes, well it’s raining outside. Look-“

“What happened to your uniform?”

“I tore it falling out of a tree-“

“Yes, but what’s that all over it?”

“Oh, er, goose droppings, but-“

“Is your hand okay?”

“No, a bee stung me-“

“What are you carrying?”

“What does it look like?! A stuffed sheep!” Martin barked frantically. Douglas blinked.

“You see, Arthur? The master.”

“Douglas, listen. There’s a truck full of geese outside and one of them ate my dad’s ring and I don’t know which one and I know there’s nothing you can do but is there anything you can do?” Martin looked at him with wide blue eyes full of pleading and Douglas’ heart melted.

“Gosh. Well, it’s a bit of a tall order, Martin, even for me.”

“You can’t do anything?” Martin’s face fell and his voice had gone soft.

“I didn’t say that. Gerry.”

“Douglas.” Gerry was at his side instantly.

“This is Martin. Martin is a man who would like to discover which of a truckload of geese has swallowed a valuable ring. Martin, this is Gerry. Gerry is a man who wishes he could get more use out of his metal-detecting gate. Perhaps you two could have a profitable discussion.”

“Oh, grand!” Gerry smiled, pleased. Carolyn bustled back in, frowning to find them all still standing around in the bar.

“Come on, come on. Where are you all? Twelve minutes.”

“Er, yes, Carolyn. But, er, b-before that, though, I-I just want to very quickly x-ray all the geese.” Martin stammered.

“You what?! No, I’m sorry, Martin, I’m very sorry, but there is no time! Now come on!” Martin took a deep breath and drew himself up a few inches, meeting Carolyn’s gaze head-on.

“No. I’m sorry, Carolyn. I carried the sheep for you. I climbed the tree. I rode the back of the truck. But now I have to x-ray these geese.” Carolyn gaped at him.

“Always the extra mile.” Douglas said to Arthur, who grinned in response. Carolyn huffed out a breath and sank into the nearest seat.

“Go on, then, x-ray your damned geese.” She waved her hand imperiously at Martin, then turned to Gerry. “Double gin and tonic, with ice and lemon.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘on the rocks’, Mum.” Arthur supplied with a pleased smile.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“And…contestant 21!” Arthur shouted merrily as Mr. Fisher took one of the last of the geese through the gate. Nothing happened.

“Okay.” Martin sighed, turning to the last of the fowl. “So it has to be this one then…”

“It’s always the way when you lose something, isn’t it? It’s always in the last goose you look.” Douglas joked, setting down the goose he’d walked through the gate just before Mr. Fisher’s.

“You are sure the goose swallowed it, are you?” Carolyn asked with mild frustration, her drink long finished by the time they’d managed to get the first twenty geese through the metal detector after being taught how to properly carry one.

“I…was sure.” Martin said uncertainly, checking his pockets again. “Alright…come here…” The final goose honked in complaint and Martin almost lost his hold on her.

“No, remember, support her body.” Mr. Fisher admonished.

“I’m trying!” Martin shouted, stressed.

“Contestant 22!” Arthur announced brightly as the captain stepped through the gate, which immediately beeped at them.

“There it is! That’s her!” Gerry cheered, and the exhausted group gave a half-hearted hoorah.

“Now for God’s sake hold on to her!” Carolyn griped.

“You can have that one for twenty euros.” Mr. Fisher said, examining the beast.

“Okay. Er…let me see…” Martin’s eyes flickered with worry as he reached for his wallet. Douglas was about to pull his own wallet out when Carolyn cut in.

“I’ll get it, Martin.”

“Oh…you don’t have to do that.” Martin said with soft surprise.

“Well, I’ve already spent 85 euros on a dead sheep today…I may as well stand you a live goose as well.” She handed Mr. Fisher off a twenty euro note and he tipped his hat at them, setting about wrangling any straggling geese back into his truck. “Now, Gerry, I don’t suppose there’s any way you can still clear us to leave?”

“Carolyn, I’m sorry, I really can’t. They’d have my license off me.” Gerry said apologetically. It was well past dusk now.

“Well, then. It looks like we’re here for the night.”

“Brilliant!” Arthur cheered. “Oh, and Douglas and I can teach you a great game with the security gate!”

“And the bar’s open as long as you want it.” Gerry offered to lighten the mood. “Can I get you anything now, in fact? Carolyn?”

“A large gin and tonic.” Carolyn said, handing him her empty glass.

“Martin?”

“A small red wine.” Martin shot him a small grateful smile for the consideration.

“And gentlemen…two shots of the usual?”

“Thank you, Gerry.” Douglas responded. “Oh, and Gerry?”

“Yes?”

“Leave the carton.”

“Right you are.” Gerry and Carolyn sauntered off to the bar.

“Arthur, watch the goose.” Douglas ordered before turning to Martin. “Come on, Martin, let’s get you sorted out.” He guided Martin to the men’s room and locked the door behind them.

“Alright, off with those clothes.” Douglas helped pull Martin’s jacket off and went to work with the paper towels trying to get the worst of the mess off of it while the younger man stripped off the rest of his soiled attire and sighed miserably.

“It has been the absolute worst day, Douglas.” Martin’s voice was small and tired. Douglas set the jacket aside and looked at Martin with concern. He stood in the center of the moderately clean room in nothing but his pants, his shoulders slumped with defeat and a few stray curls fallen into his eyes.

“Come here.” Douglas pulled Martin into a hug, rubbing a hand up and down on his back soothingly. Martin sniffled once and shivered with cold. Douglas released him and turned on one of the faucets. “Tip your head backward into the sink for a moment.”

“Why?” Martin asked with mild alarm.

“…You don’t really want to know.” Martin groaned and did as he was asked, tilting his head backwards into the stream of water and letting Douglas run his hands through the wet curls, rinsing and dislodging the worst of the muck. Douglas flipped the water off and pumped a generous amount of hand soap onto his palms, rubbing them together and then plunging them into Martin’s hair. “Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing and should get it out.” Martin closed his eyes and sighed again, a little less unhappily this time. Douglas smiled and enjoyed himself as he got to thoroughly engross himself in those ginger locks he loved so much. Playing with Martin’s hair was one of his favorite activities. He turned the water back on and Martin ducked his head back under the spray.

“Thanks, Douglas.” Martin said as he vigorously rubbed paper towels on his head to dry his hair.

“You’re welcome.” Douglas draped his own jacket over Martin’s shoulders when he shivered again. “I’ll see if I can rustle you up something to wear. You didn’t happen to bring a change of clothes in your flight bag, did you?”

“No, we were meant to be back in Fitton hours ago so I didn’t bother.”

“Hmm…stay here, I’ll just be a moment.” Douglas slipped out of the loo with Martin’s ruined uniform and headed for GERTI to retrieve his flight bag, pulling his phone out as he went. A quick internet search turned up a dry cleaners five minutes from the airfield and he rang them. It was twenty minutes to their closing time but a bit of smooth talking and the promise of a generous tip convinced the young lady on the other end to do a rush job of cleaning and repairing Martin’s uniform by morning. He caught Gerry just as he was about to leave and managed to harangue him into dropping off the uniform on his way home.

“Here we are.” Douglas announced when he returned to Martin, rummaging through his flight bag and producing a spare shirt and trousers. “I always keep extra in my bag in case Arthur decides to get creative with the drinks.”

Martin smiled gratefully and put them on. Douglas snickered a little at the sight of Martin in the much-too-big clothes. His belt held the trousers precariously in place and he had to roll up the leg bottoms so they didn’t drag under his heels. The shirt went down to his mid-thigh and left a great swath of flesh around his collar visible. His hands were swamped with the length of the sleeves and the entire ensemble made him seem smaller than usual. Martin shot him a sulky glare at the laughter.

“Not a word.”

“I didn’t say anything, captain…Now, let me see that hand.”

“Not much to be done about it but wait, I’m afraid.” Martin said but gave the first officer his hand for inspection anyway.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Douglas retrieved the toothpaste from his flight bag. “Old home remedy, the glycerin helps dry out the venom. Follow it up with some ice to numb it and the pain and swelling should go down faster.”

Martin rubbed a small amount of toothpaste into the stung area and winced slightly. “Thank you, Douglas.” Douglas nodded and the two of them made their way to the bar, where Arthur was sitting on the floor with the goose asleep on his lap. Carolyn looked Martin up and down.

“Well, that’s certainly attractive.” She said with an amused smirk. Martin flushed red and readjusted the shirt a little as he sat down with the glass of wine Gerry had left for him.

“Wow, Skip!” Arthur exclaimed, “Can I dress up as Douglas, too?”

“….No.” Douglas said dryly, nursing his glass of juice. Arthur made a despairing noise but didn’t protest further.

“What are you going to name her, Skip?” Arthur asked after the briefest of moments of silence, petting the goose lightly.

“I vote ‘Easter Dinner’.” Douglas said and Arthur clutched the goose closer to him, causing it to wake and honk in distress.

“You can’t eat her!” he wailed.

“For God’s sake will you shut that thing up?” Carolyn snapped.

“We’re not going to eat her.” Martin said tiredly to calm the steward’s nerves. He tilted his head in consideration for a moment. “I guess I’ll call her…Spitfire.”

“Brilliant! Like the plane!” Arthur smiled happily and soothed the goose again.

“Well, this was enormously fun,” Carolyn said, not sounding at all believable, “but I’m going to bed.”

“Bed?” Douglas raised a brow and Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“Yes, the pilot’s lounge is mine tonight, you may have your pick of what section of floor you’d like to call home.” That said, she was off. Martin glanced around the empty bar.

“Flip you for the bench?”

“Alright. Call it.” The first officer produced a coin from his pocket and it glinted in the air.

“Heads!”

“Ooh, bad luck, Martin.”

“What else is new?” Martin huffed, draining the last of his wine in one gulp.

“Cheer up, Martin…if I get the bench, that means you get the couch.”

“C-couch?”

“That’s right. Come with me.” Douglas led Martin to the control room where he and Arthur had played with the tannoy earlier that day, revealing a comfortable if slightly worn couch in the corner. “Voila!” Martin sank down onto it and moaned softly.

“You are a saint.” Douglas chuckled at that.

“Good night, Martin.” Martin yawned in response and had drifted off from a combination of exhaustion and the wine before Douglas had left the room.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas blinked his eyes open at the thin rays of sunlight shining in through the window and felt a stab of panic at the familiar bleary sight of a bar. He shot up, regretting the action instantly as a stab of achey pain shot up his spine and he remembered exactly why he was snoozing on a bench in Kilkenny airport. How often had he woken to a similar sight after a night of hard boozing? He shuddered to think. Shifting off the bench, he stepped over Arthur’s curled up form, tucked neatly around Spitfire and looking even more childlike than usual. He found Martin already awake in the control room, frowning down at the oversized and now rumpled clothes he’d borrowed.

“Douglas, good, what did you-“ Douglas cut him off by sneaking in a quick kiss.

“Good morning to you, too, Martin.” Martin stared at him, terrifyingly still.

“…What was that?” Douglas felt a twinge of uncertainty, something he wasn’t used to at all.

“What was what?” He asked carefully. Martin glanced at the door behind him before responding.

“You kissed me.” The captain hissed quietly as though someone were recording their conversation.

“So?”

“So Carolyn or Arthur could have seen! We agreed, none of that on the job, Douglas!” Martin whispered frantically at him.

“We’re not workin-“

“Yes, we are! We’re pilots, we’re at an airfield, this is our workplace. That was completely unprofessional.”

“What, so it’s okay when you do it but not when I do?” Douglas asked, starting to get angry. “You set the terms of the relationship and I respected that, but-“

“We are not having this conversation here.” Martin interrupted snappily. Douglas reigned in his temper just barely.

“Fine.” He said coolly. “But we are having this conversation.” Martin stepped past him and left the room stiffly and Douglas sank down onto the couch heavily. Blind terror gripped his heart for a brief moment and he struggled to suck in a deep breath as he recalled countless fights and the sharp slam of a door that signaled the end of a relationship. His fingers twitched, itching to wrap around the slim neck of a bottle, and he clenched his fists hard.

“Emily…Emily…Emily…” he repeated the mantra to himself for several minutes before he realized he’d actually drawn blood. Ignoring the tickling sensation of pain, he made his way out to join the others. He spotted Martin talking to Gerry, who was handing him his now immaculate and sewn uniform fresh from the cleaners. He turned the opposite way and left the building, going to do the walk round. He took his time, paying special attention to the process. He could have rivaled Martin’s inspection times. By the time he’d finished, Carolyn was directing Arthur in the process of loading the goose into the hold and Martin was waiting in the flight deck, fully dressed. They took off and flew in relative silence for a while.

“…Thank you, Douglas.” Martin said finally, keeping his eyes ahead. “For the uniform.”

“…Not a problem, sir.” Douglas said formally, lacking his usual teasing tone. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the flight until it was time to land. Martin wrangled the goose, which had apparently crapped out the ring sometime in the night, into his van, shutting the door behind it.

“Can I come over to yours in a few?” Douglas nodded in response, not trusting his voice. Martin seemed to deflate a little but hopped into the driver’s side and drove off. Douglas kicked the nearest tire on his Lexus before driving home. It was another two hours before Martin showed up, standing nervously at his front door. He let him in and poured them each a cup of tea, feeling sick to his stomach, and waited for Martin to speak.

“…Are you angry with me?” Martin asked in a small voice. Douglas sighed.

“No…I’m frustrated, Martin. We’ve been dating for nearly a year.” Martin started to say something but Douglas held his hand up to stop him. “Let me finish, I’ve chosen these words with care. That first day, you asked we keep it between us for now, and I agreed. I didn’t expect that ‘for now’ was going to last this long. I understood keeping it secret at first. Carolyn might have tried to nose in, Arthur would have been crushed if it didn’t work out, but we’re beyond those arguments now.”

“I know…I know…” Martin said softly, staring into his tea. “I…I think I have a lot of…I have a lot of difficulty with…this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of them. “I am trying, Douglas…and you know me, you know I never stop trying, not ever. I’m going to keep at it until I get it right…So…please be patient with me?”

“Mmm…” Douglas gave a soft hum in response, putting one arm around Martin’s shoulders. “Seventh time’s the charm, right?” Martin leaned into him a little more.

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.”


	15. Vaduz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! Hooray! Wokingham is next and has a projected release date of the 24th, so fingers crossed I accomplish it. Quick note for this chapter, 1471 is the UK equivalent of *69 in the US. Thanks sungmee for beta!

“What a peaceful holiday you two are going to have.” Douglas said sarcastically, absently doodling on a piece of paper.

“It is not a holiday,” Carolyn protested. “It is a…trip.”

“It’s a holiday,” Herc insisted. “The first holiday I’ve had for years.”

“I suppose normally you’d just wait for the next honeymoon to roll round.”

“What?” Arthur asked, slow on the uptake as usual.

“Douglas is wittily referring to my four marriages, Arthur, as opposed to his mere three.” Herc explained.

“Wow!” Arthur exclaimed. “Is that true? You two have got seven ex-wives?”

“Between us, yes…I think. There isn’t any overlap, is there, Douglas?”

“I’d have to check my paperwork.”

“Seven! That’s enough for a netball team!” Arthur mentioned happily.

“What a chilling thought.” Herc made a face as he pictured it.

“Of course, if Carolyn contributes her two husbands as well, we’re well on our way to a football team.” Douglas mentioned, smirking at the look of revulsion that crossed over both of their faces simultaneously.

“Thank you, Douglas, that will do.” Carolyn rolled her eyes.

“I-I think I’d put my second wife in goal.” Herc said.

“Hercules Shipwright, did you just do a ‘My ex-wife’s so fat’ joke?” Carolyn turned a glare on him and he had the good sense to look sheepish.

“Certainly not! She happens to be a professional goalkeeper.”

“Really?”

“No. She’s huge.” Carolyn smacked him on the arm.

“Come on, we’re late.”

“That’s because you were-“

“Shut up.” Carolyn interrupted tersely and swept out the door without waiting for him. Herc scrambled out after her to catch up, and Douglas grudgingly admitted to himself that Herc was head over heels for her and they really did make a good couple. Martin took the seat across from Douglas and started to actually fill out his logbook and Douglas rolled his eyes.

“You do know that Carolyn is going to be gone all week, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Martin blinked up at him, not getting his meaning.

“Meaning we have the place to ourselves…and we don’t actually have to do boring old paperwork.”

“Just because she’s not here doesn’t mean we stop working, Douglas.” Martin returned to the paperwork resolutely, but the glimmer of a smile played on the edges of his lips.

“This is brilliant!” Arthur declared just before the phone rang. Douglas watched as Martin answered it with his most professional voice and an idea sprang into his mind for entertainment this week.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello, MJN Air. Captain Martin Crieff speaking.” Douglas watched with mild amusement as Martin tapped his pen with increasing speed on the desk. He put the phone down. “Nothing, again. That’s the fifth time today!”

“Yes…it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” Douglas said drolly. Martin’s eyes narrowed and he picked up the phone and tapped in 1471. Douglas’ cell phone went off in his pocket.

“You!” Martin hissed accusingly at him and Douglas let loose the laughter he’d been holding in all day.

“Oh, come on, Martin, it was just a bit of fun.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello, MJN Air. Captain Martin Crieff speaking.”

“Hello, I am calling about a booking for Thursday.”

“Of course, sir. How many passengers?”

“Ah, that’s the thing. I wanted to bring my pets with me. Are pets allowed in the cabin or would they have to go below? And if so, what’s your safety record with animals?”

“Oh, err…wh-what sort of pets are they?”

“A cat and a carp.”

“Douglas, this is misuse of company property!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello, MJN Air. Captain Martin Crieff speaking.”

“Hello, I was wondering about chartering your aircraft to go to Chicago on Saturday, only…well, it’s a bit embarrassing, really…I’m kind of a nervous flier. I’d need to be absolutely assured you’ll do anything necessary to make me feel safe during the flight.”

“I assure you, we will do whatever it takes to make you completely comfortable.”

“Well…would it be possible for you to…oh, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“You promise not to laugh?”

“Of course. I-I-I would never laugh…”

“It’s just, singing really relaxes me. I was wondering if you could sing to me, to calm me down.”

“S-sing to you? I…I guess…we could…”

“Could you try it now?”

“Try it now?!”

“Maybe I should try somewhere else…”

“No! N-no, I…I can sing to you…er…L-London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling do-“ Douglas couldn’t hold it anymore and laughed uproariously. “Douglas?! Is that you?!”

“That’s what you’d sing to a nervous flier?! A song about falling down?!” Douglas burst out laughing again.

“Shut up, Douglas! You are answering the next one!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello, MJN Air. Captain Martin Crieff speaking.”

“Parlez-vouz Francais?”

“Oh, er, n-no I don’t speak French…if you’ll just hold one moment I can put the first officer on, he can speak it.”

“No, no, no, not necessary. I try speaking English. I want fly to the Montreal on Tuesday next.”

“Oh, um, yes, of course. How many passengers?”

“Five.”

“And may I take your name?”

“I have question first.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Will the Captain Martin duCref be flying?” The line went dead and the loo door swung open revealing a very angry red-faced Martin.

“Douglas Richardson, if you prank call that line one more time there will be no sex til Carolyn’s back!” his eyes widened the second the words were out and he clapped both hands over his mouth, whirling around to be sure Arthur was indeed out getting them lunch.

“You know, you can fight back at any time.” Douglas snickered.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Your turn, I think.” Douglas said when the phone rang again. Martin made an annoyed sound and shot him a glare, to which he smirked in response.

“Hello? MJN Air. Captain Martin Crieff speaking.” Martin continued to watch Douglas suspiciously from his seat. “Certainly. May I take your name?” He leaned forward a bit, his pen poised over paper, then dropped it on the desk and leaned back exaggeratedly. “Are you?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What a coincidence…Oh, it’s just that I’m the Lord High Archduke Martin of Crieffstonia. Now what can I do for you? Is it a dragon? D’you need rescuing from a dragon? Only I know what you princesses are like.”

“Er, Martin…” Douglas began, frowning a little. “This has nothing to do with me.”

“No, of course not!” Martin rolled his eyes with exasperation.

“No, really!” the first officer insisted. Uncertainty filtered into Martin’s expression.

“E-e-e-e-excuse me, can you wait a minute?” He pressed the phone to his chest and hissed at Douglas. “Seriously, Douglas – this isn’t one of your mates?”

“Who is it?”

“The Princess of Liechtenstein!”

“No. The Princess of Liechtenstein is not one of my mates.”

“Right! Fine! Then you talk to her!” Martin thrust the phone at him and crossed his arms, glowering at Douglas.

“With pleasure.” Douglas brought the phone to his ear. “Hello. This is First Officer Douglas Richardson. I do apologize. We’ve been getting some hoax calls this week. Now, how can we help you?”

“Well, I am Princess Theresa of Liechtenstein and I was hoping to charter you to fly the king and I from Vaduz to Fitton.” The voice that came out of the speaker was heavy with an accent and Douglas found himself impressed that Martin knew anyone that could produce such a sound. He grinned, glad that he’d finally gotten Martin to join in on the phone fun. It was really a spectacular first try.

“But of course! To fly The King and I? Well, this is The Sound of Music to our ears! Why, not since we flew Madam Butterfly to the South Pacific have we had-“

“Douglas! It’s nothing to do with me either!” Martin said, his eyes bugging out. He was a better actor than Douglas had given him credit for.

“Yes it is, but I must say, answering it yourself first was a very artistic touch.”

“Look at me.” Martin said earnestly, panic filling his eyes. “It’s not me!”

“Well, it’s not me!”

“Okay! So this has been a lot of fun, but ha-have we perhaps reached the point where one of you might consider googling the words ‘Theresa’ and ‘Liechtenstein’?” the woman on the phone asked.

“Douglas, look, I’ve just-“

“Your Royal Highness. How may we be of service?” Douglas asked as his phone brought up the google results.

“That’s better. I need a quote for a booking this Friday, two passengers, Vaduz to Fitton.”

“Of course, Vaduz to Fitton.” Douglas repeated, waving a hand at Martin to do the calculations and glancing at the wall chart. “Well, we’ve nothing booked for Friday and a trip like that will cost you…” he snapped his fingers twice at Martin and the shorter man flung up the paper he was scribbling furiously on for him to read the price from.

“Fantastic.” Theresa said. “I’d like to confirm the booking, then.” Douglas took down the rest of her information and set the phone back in its cradle. Martin immediately plucked it back up and punched in Carolyn’s number.

“Carolyn! We-we-we-we’ve had a booking!” He stammered. “No, of course it’s not a surprise, it’s-If you would just listen, it’s-Carolyn, it’s the king of Liechtenstein!” A long silence followed. “It’s not, I checked…Of course I did, I’m not stupid, it definitely was not him.” He sighed in exasperation and held the phone out to Douglas. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Did you just interrupt my trip for a prank?” Carolyn snapped at him as soon as he put the phone to his ear.

“Hullo, Carolyn, lovely to hear from you, too. Me? I’m doing fine.”

“Shut up, Douglas. Did you or did you not just get an actual booking from royalty?”

“Unless Arthur has developed some hitherto unforeseeable cunning in the way of prank calls, yes. It had nothing to do with me, honest.” Martin stole the phone back.

“You see? I told you so. A-a-are you coming back?” He lowered the phone a moment later and blew out a breath. “She’s heading back shortly.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So…Martin, what sort of team would your exes make?” Douglas asked when Arthur left the flight deck, trying to sound casual. It wasn’t a subject they’d broached yet, neither of them wanting to pry into such sensitive topics.

“What? No team. You know I’ve never been married.” Martin glanced at him before turning his eyes to the instrument panel for the pre take-off checks awkwardly.

“Mmm, but what about ex-girlfriends?”

“I’m not telling you that.” Martin said quickly.

“Okay.”

“That’s private.”

“Absolutely. Forget I asked.” He swallowed his smirk as he watched Martin’s thought process etch across his face.

“How-how-how-how many people in a bobsled?” Martin asked at length.

“Four.” Douglas supplied.

“Oh.” Martin’s shoulders drooped.

“There’s five in a basketball team, if that helps.” He offered.

“It doesn’t.”

“Ah. I don’t think there’s anything with three.” Douglas wondered if he was one of the three Martin was counting or not.

“No…” the captain sighed. “There wouldn’t be.”

“Hang on, I’ll look it up.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and ran a quick internet search.

“There’s really no need.”

“Petanque!” the older man announced.

“What?” Martin stared blankly at him.

“There’s three players in a petanque team! You know, boules, like old Frenchmen play.”

“Go on, then.” Martin sighed, slumping a little in his seat.

“What?”

“Well, I know you only asked me so I would ask you. What sort of team would your ex-girlfriends be?”

“Hmmm. Well, you know the start of the London Marathon?” Douglas grinned.

“Yes, all right!” Martin threw his hands in the air in defeat.

“…Just out of curiosity, does your count include boyfriends?” He almost thought Martin wasn’t going to respond, but at length the ginger man’s face softened and he offered a shy smile.

“…Just the one.” Douglas smiled back and returned his attention to the controls before him.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Theresa was an impossibly tall woman with shapely legs and wavy dark hair that fell into seductive eyes and she was all over his boyfriend. She was teasing his Martin. She was making his face turn red. She was way too close to him. Every giggle that came out of her mouth grated on his nerves and he let the conversation fall away from him. But he couldn’t get it out of his brain. His head throbbed with pulsing beats of jealousy until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You know she was flirting with you, don’t you?” he blurted out in the flight deck after the post take-off checks were complete.

“What? Who?” Martin stared at him, jaw slack.

“Theresa.”

“Why would she be flirting with me? She’s a princess.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because she has eyes.” Douglas grumbled. “Are you interested in her?”

“Am I…what? What sort of question is that? You know I’m…I…she…she’s not my type.” Martin stammered, flustered.

“Could have fooled me.” Douglas said snarkily, thinking back to the women Martin used to chat up. Sure, he rarely got anywhere with them, but he had tried to. He wanted to be with them, and who could blame him? It would simplify everything for him. He wouldn’t have to worry about telling his family he was dating a princess, after all. Would he hide a relationship with Theresa from Carolyn and Arthur? Suddenly Douglas felt like he was Martin’s dirty secret.

“Well, she’s not.” Martin said primly, a touch of annoyance entering his tone.

“What about Martin Davenport?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, the green eyed monster rearing its ugly head again.

“What about him?”

“Is he your type? Arthur seemed to think you two hit it off. Apparently you exchanged numbers.” Martin stared at him for a long moment.

“Are you…” He glanced at the flight deck door. “Are you…jealous?”

“Should I be?” he shot back. Martin stared some more before a grin broke out on his face and he returned his eyes to the sky.

“Of course not. Gosh, I…We met for drinks to commiserate, he’s married with two kids…you were really jealous?” Martin’s light-hearted tone stung in the dark recesses of Douglas’ heart. His smile died when he looked back at Douglas. “Douglas?”

Douglas took a shaky breath, blinking back the tears he hadn’t realized had filled his eyes. This was always the case, he thought morosely. He internalized and let everything stew inside until it reached a pressure point and took his composure down with it. He trusted Martin, he did, but a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him he had trusted Helena with his heart too, and she had smashed it. She hadn’t intended to, and she had regretted it, and Martin wouldn’t mean to either, but what if, the voice whispered. How had one act of adultery managed to poison his trust in other people so much?

Martin’s concern grew and he placed a hand on his arm.

“Douglas…are you alright? I…I’m sorry, I didn’t think…You know you have nothing to worry about. I…I love you. You know that, right?”

“I’m fine, Martin.” Douglas muttered unconvincingly. Martin slumped back in his seat and pulled off his hat, fiddling with it in his lap.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk to me, just listen.” He said quietly. “I…am completely awkward. I’m the least seductive person in England.” He let out a small bitter laugh. “I’ve honestly no idea how we ended up together, let alone how to go about having an affair even if I wanted to, w-w-which I absolutely don’t. And honestly, why would I want a princess when I’ve got you?” He took a deep breath, and Douglas saw how hard he was pushing himself to say this out loud, especially in the flight deck. “I don’t need a London Marathon to know I’ve got the best of the best…” he trailed off and all was quiet for a long moment.

“…I am pretty terrific, aren’t I?” Martin gave a small laugh.

“Yeah…you really are.” He said sincerely.

“Mmm…and who knows? Maybe before the flight ends you’ll get yourself a bobsled.”

“Douglas!” the captain admonished.

“You could invite her to Duxford!” Douglas teased, chuckling as Martin went red.

“Shut up, she’s not even…she doesn’t…just shut up.”

“I wonder if you get a royal discount.”

“You’re impossible.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Call us back!” Theresa yelled down the satcom, making Martin jump a little even as he gaped.

“Wow! That was amazing!” He exclaimed when Carolyn rang off. “I thought you said you weren’t that sort of princess?”

“No, but my mother is. That was basically her.” Theresa explained.

“Thank you so much. You saved my life.”

“Yes, well…always useful to have a princess around to rescue you from dragons.”

“Honestly, I-I-I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“Well…think of something.” Theresa looked at him expectantly and Martin shot a glance at Douglas, who held back a snicker.

“…Okay…”

“I’m waiting.”

“Okay…” Martin said again, sharing a look with Douglas again. “I…I am thinking of something.”

“Yes?” Theresa said hopefully.

“But I don’t know if it’s the same thing you’re thinking of.” He amended quickly. More like it’s definitely not what she’s thinking of, Douglas thought to himself.

“No, well, you won’t know until you try, will you?”

“Okay…well…” Douglas nodded at him encouragingly and he burst out in one rapid breath, “Would you like to go to Duxford Air Museum with me?”

“Okay, so it’s not what I was thinking of…”

“Oh God! I’m so sorry! I should never have asked…”

“No, but it’s not bad.” She laughed lightly. “We can go tomorrow?”

“Really?”

“Sure!” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then winked and slipped out the door, saying flirtatiously, “See you later.”

“Well!” Douglas grinned when the door shut behind her, watching Martin’s face go bright red.

“Did she just…”

“Oh, yes! Congratulations, Martin. You’ve got yourself…a bobsled.” Martin blushed hard but rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like it’s a real bobsled…I mean it’s not a real date.”

“She thinks it is, I think we can let it count.” Martin shot a glance at the flight deck door before leaning in and pecking a kiss on Douglas’ cheek.

“I prefer my petanque team.”


	16. Wokingham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: THIS CHAPTER IS NSFW.
> 
> Okay, I know, this chapter is super late. Things came up and it just didn't happen. But here's Wokingham! Next chapter should be coming to you in 3 days! Thanks for reading and I hope you don't murder me cause things are going to get super sad/angsty starting next chapter. Thanks sungmee for beta.

Douglas woke slowly, basking in the warmth of Martin’s smaller frame tucked neatly in his arms and the comfortable feeling of the redhead’s long fingers lazily tracing patterns over his back. He hummed a little in content, tightening his hold a little and nuzzling into those curly locks that smelled of vanilla. The head beneath him shifted, turning up to meet his lips in a haphazard kiss.

“Happy Anniversary.” The lips murmured against his.

“Mmm, Happy Anniversary.” Douglas responded, his voice still rough with sleep. “Shall I make us breakfast in bed?”

“No.” Douglas frowned a little, worry seeping into him before Martin rolled half on top of him. “Let’s skip breakfast.” The captain’s eyes glinted mischievously and his hand snaked down to cup Douglas’ morning wood through his pants, earning a soft groan from the older man. His hands trailed up Martin’s thighs as their lips met in a longer kiss, making a noise of surprise when he realized the younger man had already rid himself of his own clothes.

“Naughty, Captain Crieff.” He murmured with amusement when the kiss broke, enjoying the lazy rock of Martin’s hips against him. The ginger man trailed kisses down his jaw to his chest, biting each nipple gently until both were just as erect as his cock was below. He slid down Douglas’ body, grinning cheekily up at him before taking the waistband of his pants between his teeth and attempting to pull them down that way. Douglas shifted his hips up, trying to help him, but only succeeded in accidentally knocking Martin’s teeth and causing him to pull back and rub them a little. Martin cursed under his breath and pouted a little.

“That never happened in the movies…” he muttered, a little put out. Douglas laughed lightly, sitting up and kissing him before playfully nipping his freckled shoulder.

“What exactly have you been watching, darling?” Martin flushed and kissed him again, sucking on his bottom lip a little.

“I…may have found your porn collection.” He admitted sheepishly, kissing him again and pressing him back into the sheets once more. The mental image of Martin watching his collection of dirty movies made him groan as a wave of desire roiled through him.

“Gave you some ideas, did it?” He grabbed Martin’s hips and hauled him up slightly, angling him just right before grinding their hips together slow and rough, earning a gasp and strangled moan. Martin responded by slipping back down and using his hands this time to remove the offending garment, retrieving the lube from the nightstand before going in for another kiss. Douglas reached for the lube but Martin held it out of reach.

The younger pulled back to rest on his haunches, pouring a generous amount of lubricant onto his hand. Douglas shivered in anticipation at the lust in those stormy eyes, shifting his legs apart to give Martin access, but the fingers never came. Instead, the redhead tilted his own hips at an angle to give Douglas a good view as he slipped his own fingers into himself. Douglas swore softly and almost came right then and there, his eyes locked on the sight before him. Martin leaned back against Douglas’ raised knees, his breath shaky as he worked his fingers in and out, his other hand slowly stroking the length of his cock. The first officer’s mouth went dry, his lips parting but no sound coming out as he tracked the motions, then met Martin’s gaze, staring wantonly back at him.

“Christ, Martin…” He breathed, finally finding his words again. Martin opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to chicken out of whatever he was going to say, opting instead to let out a breathy moan and remove his fingers from himself, coating Douglas’ cock with lube and easing himself ever so slowly onto it. Douglas swallowed hard and clenched his fists as he watched his lover take every inch of him and leisurely start to fuck himself on Douglas’ throbbing member.

Douglas canted his hips up, content with the lazy pace Martin had selected. He wanted to analyze this moment, to commit every piece of it to memory. The beads of sweat that slowly worked their way down Martin’s forehead, the subtle furrowing of his brow as he concentrated on wringing out every iota of pleasure from each second, the languid sweep of his hand over his angry red erection…each a piece of the perfection that Douglas wanted to keep in his heart forever. Time seemed to stop as Martin leaned forward to press their chests together, their hips rocking in unison. They stared into each other’s eyes, lips mere inches apart, breath and sweat and limbs mingling before they were kissing, their bodies melding together. The kiss easily turned frantic, all-consuming, and their bodies followed suit, twisting and shifting and seeking more until they were spent.

Martin sighed and smiled against his neck, nuzzling lightly but not moving from his place atop the older man, and Douglas wrapped his arms securely around him.

“I want to start telling people about us.” The words were so soft Douglas almost thought he’d imagined them.

“Martin?”

“Not everyone, not all at once, but I’m ready to start…” Douglas let a smile split his face until it hurt, shifting and flipping them so Martin was below him, his hips cradled between the younger man’s thighs.

“Do you mean that? Are you sure?” Martin smiled back and nodded.

“I thought we could start with your brother…i-if you want. A-and then, maybe, my family...” Douglas couldn’t contain his laugh and kissed Martin passionately, overwhelmed with joy at the prospect of finally, finally, putting an end to all the secrecy.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Fuel balanced.” Martin declared brightly.

“Beautifully done.” Douglas smiled in satisfaction, still basking in the glow of a wonderful anniversary day.

“Thank you.” The flight deck door opened and Carolyn barreled in, demanding that they stop using the service bell. She looked between the two of them in frustration when her complaints failed to bring down their high spirits. The sat comm beeped before she could get suspicious and interrogate them about it though.

“Good day. MJN Air. How can we help you?” Douglas asked pleasantly.

“Hi, Douglas, it’s me. Is Mum there?” Arthur’s voice sounded through the speaker.

“Yes, I’m here. What have you done now?” She asked, frowning as she no doubt envisioned the many things her son could have accomplished left to his own devices in the portacabin.

“Nothing! Nothing. It’s-it’s just, um…I’ve got a sort of hypocritical question.”

“Oh! Have you indeed?” The three of them wore matching expressions of amusement at Arthur’s unintentional vocabulary blunder.

“Yeah. Suppose something had happened-“

“What have you done?” Carolyn asked again.

“No, I haven’t done anything! It’s not my fault. And also…maybe nothing’s happened. Um, but if-if something had happened and if there was nothing the one of you it’s about can do until they get back, should I tell you now, or should I wait until you land?”

“Is the person me?” the CEO demanded.

“I’m not saying anything has happened. I’m just saying, if it did-“

“Yes, dear. You’ve been tremendously cunning. Now, just tell us.”

“Okay, good. Um, Skip, your mum just called.” Martin shifted in his seat, his shoulder’s stiffening and back straightening.

“Yes?”

“Right. And-and basically, the main thing she wants to say is that she has not had a heart attack.”

“She’s had a heart attack?!” Martin squawked, releasing the control column and leaning into the speaker. Douglas quietly took control, eyes flickering with worry, but said nothing. He understood that nauseous panic, knew exactly what it felt like to get that call. Every second of the news his mother had passed was etched into his memory as though carved into his soul with a knife.

“No! No! I mean…oh, you really couldn’t have got that more wrong, Skip! A-a heart attack is what she has not had.” Arthur frantically insisted.

“What do you mean?! What has she had?!”

“Not a heart attack! She was very clear about that!”

“Where is she?”

“Okay…when I tell you where she is, Skip, you’ve gotta not worry too much, because in fact-“

“She’s in a hospital?!” Martin interrupted, his voice elevating to a new octave.

“How did you know?!” Arthur’s pitch rose in surprise.

“Tell her I’ll be there in three hours.” They had another hour and a half flight time left, and it was an hour and a half drive to Wokingham from there.

“Will do, Skip…Skip?”

“Yes?” Martin asked, his voice still shrill.

“Please don’t worry too much…”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Douglas cut in, switching the sat comm off. Martin remained uncharacteristically quiet, eyes swimming with worry.

“Carolyn, tea.” Douglas said firmly, remembering what they’d been punching the service bell for to begin with. Carolyn, for her part, said nothing in response to the order. They exchanged a look and he muttered softly, “Milk, two sugars, and honey.” She nodded resolutely and left to procure the requested beverage, grateful to have something productive to do. Carolyn had never been very good at comforting words, it was in her silence and her actions that she supported those she cared about, or when necessary, in her fierce defense of them. When she’d gone, Martin took in a sharp breath and leaned forward over the controls, reading the instruments.

“I-I have control, Douglas.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m the captain.” Martin said, blinking back tears but not looking up from the instruments.

“You are…you’re a good pilot, Martin,” Douglas said softly. “A good pilot who must recognize when he’s not fit to fly. We’ll be back in Fitton, soon.”

Martin sat back in his seat and swiped a hand over his eyes and then through his hair, knocking his hat off. He made no move to retrieve it. Carolyn entered and handed Martin a cup of tea distinctly lacking in her usual grudging sharpness. She hesitated, hand hovering uncertainly, before patting his shoulder lightly and slipping back out wordlessly to tend to the passengers.

“My mum-“

“Is fine, Martin.”

“When we land-“

“You go ahead, immediately. I can handle the checks.”

“…Thank you…”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas spent the next few hours after landing carefully filling out the logbooks, paying special care to Martin’s organizational system. There wasn’t much he could do in the way of helping in this situation, but he could certainly ease the burden of obligation on Martin’s shoulders. He took a pen to the wall chart, crossing out Martin for the solo flight the next day and writing his own name down. He rang the restaurant at which he had reserved a table for their anniversary dinner and cancelled the reservation, then stared for a long moment at his mobile, his finger hovering over the icon to dial Martin. He resisted.

The first officer drove home and showered, keeping his phone on the bathroom counter, just in case. It was another two hours before the tones of Snoopy vs. the Red Baron cut through the deafening silence of his flat.

“Martin?”

“Hi…” Martin sighed softly from the other end. “She’s alright…she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s wonderful.” Relief washed through him, he wouldn’t wish the pain of losing a parent on his worst enemy.

“They’re going to run a few more tests this week and she’s going to need some looking after, so…i-is there any way you could take the flight tomorrow?”

“Already done, hours ago.”

“Thank you so much.” Martin said gratefully. “It’s late to drive back so I’ll be staying here tonight...” his voice took on an uncertain and almost guilty tone.

“Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve already done it.” A long pause followed before Martin added in a hushed tone, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling…get some rest.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

Douglas lowered his phone and rifled through Martin’s flight bag, sitting on the dresser in his bedroom, finding the little black day planner that held the captain’s schedule color-coded for flights and van jobs. He flipped to this week, making note of orange tabs that indicated removals.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So, where are we going?”

“Gah! Douglas! Y-you nearly gave me a heart attack! What on earth are you doing here?!” Martin jumped and gave a strangled cry when he saw Douglas sitting in the passenger seat of his van, dressed in a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt and looking bored.

“No flights scheduled today so I thought I’d lend you a hand.” Douglas said innocently, determined to weasel his way into helping wherever he could this week. Martin frowned at him and looked like he might start to argue. “Look at the time, we have to be there in half an hour, you know.”

“Fine, fine, you can help…if you want.” Martin maneuvered the vehicle onto the street, glancing sideways at Douglas but eventually letting a small grateful smile win out. The two of them spent the day heaping boxes and furniture in and out of the old van, and Douglas found himself increasingly impressed with Martin’s stamina to juggle this work around flights, standby, and dating. He resolved to help out more often, outside of family emergencies.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Good morning, Martin.” Douglas said as he entered the portacabin, stretching a little as his muscles ached from the previous day’s intensive lifting. Physical labor wasn’t the norm for him and he felt his age more than usual in the protest his shoulders gave to every slight shift. “Oh. And good day to you.”

“Good day to you, too.” Carolyn said back, eyes narrowed on him.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked tiredly, looking barely awake.

“That damned game, where speech must be kept down to words of one sound.” Douglas said carefully, noting with some concern the dark circles under his boyfriend’s eyes and the way he was slumped in his seat where usually he had perfect posture.

“You’re not still playing that?”

“Two days now. It turns out we’re both quite good.” Carolyn said with some annoyance. “Well, I can’t brief like this.”

“Fine. Brief him. I’ll go and do the…man-looks-at-plane bit.” Douglas said, leaving as he had come. It looked like he was going to be operating today, there was no way Martin was in hours.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Thank you for helping so much this week.” Martin said, again.

“It really is quite alright, Martin…I must say, I don’t know how you keep this up all the time.” Douglas responded, making a left turn onto the main road. He’d been helping with the van as much as he could all week, and the experience had given him new respect for his younger counterpart. Martin gave a small pleased smile at the compliment, tinged by weariness as he leaned his head against the passenger side window. “How is the family doing?”

“Well. Mum is on the mend, Cait and I have been looking after her as much as we can…and then Simon comes in like he’s the bloody queen and-do you know he actually insisted mum should see ‘his’ doctor? As if he even has one! ‘His’ doctor is Nathan Smiley, a podiatrist who used to-“ Martin made a frustrated noise and let out a breath. “In any case, Simon just…he never listens. Ever. He acts like he’s the boss of me.”

“Can’t you just stand up to him?” Douglas asked, fighting off the urge to smirk. As an older brother himself, he couldn’t really relate to Martin’s particular predicament, but it was funny how easily Martin slipped back into the role of little brother. Douglas wished he didn’t find the annoyed flush across Martin’s freckled cheeks so alluring.

“I try, but he just sort of steamrollers over me with his voice and his moustache.” Martin complained.

“With his moustache?” Douglas raised a brow at Martin as they stopped at a street sign.

“Really hard to argue with someone with a moustache that bushy.”

“I reckon I could have a crack at it.” Douglas grinned.

“I’m sure you could – you or Carolyn, but I’m afraid I’m not you or Carolyn. I’m me.”

“True…but you know me and Carolyn.”

“So?”

“Well, we’re driving to Stansted on Sunday, aren’t we? Perhaps we ought to call in on the way and wish your mother well…the whole crew. In our uniforms.” Douglas’ grin widened.

“Oh, yes!” Martin exclaimed, sitting up with excitement. “Fantastic!”

“So you don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“Me meeting your family?” Martin frowned, the thought having only just now made its way through his brain, and looked out the window for a long moment.

“It’s alright if you’re not up to it.” Douglas interjected, feeling a little guilty for bringing it up now, reminded of just how taxing this week had been for him.

“No!” Martin said quickly. “No, no…it’s…it’s fine. I want you to…That is…I haven’t told them yet…but…I want you to meet my mum…if anything were to happen, I want to know she met you…” he trailed off quietly. Douglas reached over, linking their hands together quietly.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas took a deep breath, tucking a stray bit of hair back and straightening his uniform, then pushed the doorbell. The door swung open almost immediately and Douglas found himself staring into exact replicas of Martin’s eyes, only set into the face of a young woman with mousy brown hair.

“Have I got the right house?” His eyes trailed behind her, noting Arthur and Carolyn standing beside a short woman with gray hair pulled into a neat bun. All three of them had their eyes on Martin, who was being swung through the air by a taller man with auburn hair and brown eyes.

“Put me down! Put me down!” Martin protested, his voice muffled by the struggle he was currently engaged in as he fought to free himself from his brother’s grip.

“He’s flying!” the man said, ignorant to the unwelcome nature of his actions.

“Yes, I think I have.” Douglas chuckled.

“Come on in. The boys are just playing.” The older woman said kindly, smiling fondly.

“So I see.” Douglas responded, his nerves fluttering in his chest again.

“Ahh, there you go.” Simon finally released Martin, who took several deep gasping breaths and watched his brother suspiciously for any sign he was going to pick him up again and resume swinging him.

“Right, right. So, this is Wendy, Caitlin and Simon, and this is Douglas, my first officer.” Martin said, pointing to each in turn. His blue eyes searched the faces of his family members in turn, trying to read their thoughts through their skulls with barely concealed desperation that they approve.

“Lovely to meet you.” Wendy said, smiling and taking his hand in both of hers to shake lightly.

“First officer?” Caitlin said, looking him up and down appraisingly. “Is that like the captain’s captain?”

“Not quite, in fact.” Douglas frowned a little.

“I’m the captain. You know I’m the captain.” Martin said with exasperation.

“Well, yes, but you’re not his captain, surely.”

“Yes, I am! Aren’t I, Douglas? Tell them.”

“Oh yes, do.” Carolyn said eagerly, smirking devilishly and reminding him of their ongoing game. He’d invested the whole week into not losing this. He couldn’t just lose now. Besides, he was a Richardson, he didn’t need long words to impress, surely.

“Oh yes. He is…” Douglas paused, considering his options. “He is my…that is who he is.”

“Oh! And is he good?” Caitlin asked with some measure of surprise.

“Oh, yes!” Douglas said enthusiastically. “He is most…most…good.”

“…Great. Thanks, Douglas. Terrific.” Martin’s face had fallen and Douglas cringed internally. Damn his competitive nature. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to throw the competition for Martin. At least Carolyn couldn’t gloat while they were in company. The thought was a small consolation.

“Well, shall we go on through? After you, Mrs. Knapp-Shappey.” Martin’s mother said just as Douglas was about to willingly lose.

“Oh, please, call me…” Carolyn cut off sharply.

“Yes?” Douglas asked, grinning.

“…Ca.”

“’Ca’?” Martin repeated dumbly.

“Yes! Ca. Short for…”

“Yes?” he repeated again, his grin spreading.

“…fun. Short, for fun.” Realization sparked in Martin’s eyes.

“Oh no. You’re not still-“

“What? All is well.”

“Okay, can I see you both in the kitchen please?” Martin all but dragged them through to a homey kitchen painted in warm golden tones and featuring a rooster motif. As soon as the door had shut behind them he exploded on them in a hushed hiss, declaring a truce while they were in that house. They rejoined the others in the sitting room and Douglas got his first taste of exactly what Martin meant when he’d complained about his brother. Simon didn’t come across as an intentionally cruel man, but he did boast a certain air of superiority that Douglas decided was just as annoying as Martin had described it.

“I’m sure it is, love, but why don’t you listen to Simon’s idea?” Wendy said in a motherly tone, trying to keep the peace.

“Douglas!” Martin hissed frantically under his breath, high-pitched. The look in his eyes brought out Douglas’ protective instincts and he had the sudden urge to wrap his arm around Martin and physically stake his claim to the younger man. As that wasn’t an option, he settled for taking Simon down a peg or two.

“So, Simon. I didn’t introduce myself properly before. I’m Douglas. I’m Martin’s first officer, his junior, his second in command.” He said, pushing his way into the conversation.

“Well, pleased to meet you.” Simon said cordially. “I must say, you look more my idea of a pilot than old Martin here.”

“Really? You look exactly my idea of a council administrator.” Simon looked slightly taken aback but recovered quickly enough.

“Well, senior administrator.”

“Oh, really? Senior. Gosh.” Douglas shared a look with Carolyn and she gave a sharky smile.

“The sights you must have seen.”

“Yes, well, I….I could tell you a few stories.” Simon said, looking unsure now that he had the complete attention of the two of them, both looking like cats that had cornered a mouse.

“Please, do.” Douglas said predatorily.

“Well, you know…mustn’t talk shop, you know.” Simon said after an awkward pause.

“Oh, but it would be such a treat for us! We’ve been dying to hear more, ever since Martin told us all about you the other day as we flew over Monte Carlo.” Carolyn insisted.

“Was it Monte Carlo, Carolyn? I think it might have been Uganda.”

“Oh, yes, of course, when we took those nice cameramen to film mountain gorillas.” She agreed theatrically.

“Sorry. The-the trips rather blur into one after a bit.” Martin was looking between the two of them with a smile that could melt glaciers, his eyes shining with appreciation as he caught on to what they were doing.

“Well, except for the ones like St. Petersburg, where we had a bird strike on take-off and Martin landed us on one engine.”

“Martin! Did you?!” Wendy exclaimed.

“Oh, he was brilliant!” Arthur said brightly from his seat on the floor. All eyes had turned to Martin, who flushed and ducked his head adorably, giving a shy but proud smile.

“Well, you know, just part of the job.”

“Well, it’s my job too, but I went to pieces.” Douglas said, and Martin gave him a look of pure adoration that was worth the world.

“Started crying.” Carolyn said with a vicious smirk in his direction.

“I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“Like a schoolgirl.”

“That’ll do.” He shot her a warning look. “But Martin here slapped me across the face, told me not to be a damned fool, and landed the plane single-handed, fighting the crosswind all the way down to the icy runway and saving all our lives.”

“Martin!”

“That’s amazing!”

“But I’m sorry, we’re getting sidetracked, you were going to tell us your story, Simon.” Douglas looked pointedly at the older Crieff brother, who seemed to shrink in on himself a little.

“…Yeah. Yes. Well, er, I would, but, um, but, you know, b-best not. Official Secrets Act, you know.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Say no more.” After that, Simon was blessedly quiet for the majority of their visit, answering a few questions about his children and wife stiltedly before his mobile rang and he left the room to take the call, returning moments later to take his leave with little explanation. Douglas quickly won over Caitlin, who hung on his every word admiringly. Wendy conversed with him easily, showing him the same warmth she bestowed on everyone in the house and making it harder to tell her true regard for him. It wasn’t until they were left alone together in the room that he realized she was far sharper than he had given her credit for. Carolyn had excused herself to the loo while Martin, Caitlin, and Arthur set about getting tea and biscuits for everyone. He was just tossing about for something to say when she beat him to the punch.

“…You love my son, don’t you?” her eyes were downcast as she asked the question softly, but with a certainty of tone that left no room for playing the denial card.

“I…yes, very much.” He searched her expression, unsure of what he saw there. She nodded a little to herself, a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes.

“I wanted more for my children…” Douglas’ heart clenched painfully tight in his chest. “More than what I had with their father. He was a good man, and we loved each other in our own way, but our marriage was one of practicality…I’m glad Martin has found it in you. I only wish I had been able to protect him from the words that made him so ashamed of who he is.”

Douglas didn’t get a chance to respond, as Arthur burst into the room with a plate of biscuits, flanked by Martin and Caitlin carrying various cups full of steaming tea. Wendy smiled warmly and thanked them, and Douglas stared into his tea, thinking deeply.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“All okay?” Douglas asked when Martin joined them on the curb after saying their goodbyes.

“Er, yes. I-I think so. You don’t think we were too mean to Simon, do you?”

“Good lord, no!” Douglas exclaimed.

“I don’t think so. Why, do you feel bad?” Carolyn asked.

“Er, maybe a bit bad, but also, sort of mainly amazing!” He laughed delightedly and danced a little from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, I know it’s petty, but it was amazing! Thank you so much!”

“Oh, not at all. I know what it’s like. Well, you’ve met Ruth. She still makes me feel like a five-year-old.” Carolyn said.

“You know, I think I could handle him if it weren’t for that moustache.” Martin sighed thoughtfully.

“I do think you set too much store by moustaches.” Douglas said.

“A-ha! Moustaches!” Carolyn cut in sharply.

“What?”

“Three syllables. I win!” It took Douglas a moment to catch up to that, and they were soon in a heated debate over whether or not the game was still ongoing, followed by Arthur taking a very short turn at the game.


	17. Xinzhou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I give up on trying to make a schedule for updates anymore, because my schoolwork and other responsibilities have gotten so hectic lately, so no expected update day this time. However, this does not mean the work is on hiatus, because it is definitely not. I am working on it, I just have less time to do so now. Worst-case scenario updates are 2-3 weeks apart, but ideally I'll get them out sooner. Only two or three chapters to go now! As always, your comments are my fuel and I am so grateful to all of you who leave me messages! Special thanks to sungmee for beta as usual. Next update will be the dreaded Yverdon-Les-Bains!

“Come and look at the snow.” Oh, God. Douglas could see where this was going already. Martin had his trademark I’m-overly-worried-about-something-that’s-fine expression on, which meant he was no doubt about to waste valuable time that could be spent going home to a warm bed and cup of tea.

“I can see it from here, Martin. It’s lovely. Sit down, let’s go.”

“No, I’m worried about it.”

“Oh, Martin, no. Please.”

“You’ll waste more time arguing about it than looking at it.” Martin pointed out. The man knew their routine of argument far too well. Still, what he said was true, so Douglas conceded, grudgingly putting on his coat and following Martin outside. The first sweep of frozen air after the nice warm flight deck went right to the first officer’s spine and he felt like he’d just undergone a sex change.

“Yes, it’s absolutely fine. Come on!” his voice had definitely gone up by about an octave.

“No, I…I-I just think it looks a bit slushy.” Martin insisted, frowning at the snow beneath his feet.

“It’s not slushy at all! It’s lovely, dry, fluffy snow. If it was slushy, I couldn’t make a snowball out of it, and yet, look.” To prove his point, Douglas scooped up a good handful of the stuff, rolling it around in his hands, which started to sting from the cold.

“Yeah, but it…it-it’s not a proper snowball. It hasn’t got much structural integrity-” Martin began, and Douglas couldn’t help but grouchily wonder where Martin had gotten his PhD in snowball engineering. But he’d thought of a better response than sarcasm, and he savored the look on Martin’s face as he blinked and pawed the remnants of the snow off his face. Bull’s-eye.

“Seems all right to me.” Douglas snickered.

“I did know you were going to do that.” Martin said sulkily. God, Douglas wanted to kiss him. He wondered if he’d be allowed to when Martin finally conceded to tell Arthur and Carolyn, or if he would maintain the utmost professionalism wherever aeroplanes were concerned.

“And yet you didn’t duck.”

“Yes, but look: if you just scoop it lightly…” Martin bent down and scooped a small amount up, then grinned and tossed it at Douglas, thinking he had the upper hand. Unfortunately for him, scooping lightly does not a snowball make, and the concoction went to pieces well before it entered Douglas’ personal space.

“Making snowballs is an art, Martin, not a science.” He scooped up another handful, packed it together in his hands, and let it fly, this time only grazing the captain’s shoulder.

“Look, see, it fell apart before it even really hit me!” Martin insisted, making another that whizzed past Douglas.

“But it did hit you. You have terrible aim.” Douglas smirked and dodged another lump of snow lobbed at him. A third one finally caught his hip and Martin bounced a little triumphantly.

“Ha! I got you! But seriously, Douglas, look.” He made one more and threw it at GERTI. “You see? It’s still spattering before impact. That’s why it’s not safe-“

“Gentlemen, I hate to intrude on your pilot-y winter wonderland, but we have eleven minutes to get this thing in the air.” Carolyn interrupted them as she stamped down the steps, glaring at them each in turn. Martin looked a little sheepish but relayed his concerns to her. The debate, thankfully, didn’t go on for much longer, as Douglas noticed Arthur’s half-formed snowman standing happily a few feet away, thus settling the argument.

[][][][][][][][][]

“Damn.” Carolyn cursed partially under her breath after Arthur disappeared into the galley for their food.

“What?” Douglas queried, raising a brow at her.

“Oh, nothing. I…I just realized I’m not going to be back in time for Tosca.” She lamented. Ah. Hercules Shipwright. He should have guessed.

“Oh dear. That won’t go down well with Herc the Berk.”

“Do you mind not calling him that?” Carolyn frowned and crossed her arms, shifting in her chosen seat.

“I’m sorry. Hercules the Berkules.” Martin and Carolyn shot him matching glares of warning and he made a vague hand gesture to indicate he was done for now.

“Anyway, I wasn’t going with him. He’s in Zurich.” Douglas might have let that be the end of that, but he caught something different in Carolyn’s expression. Martin seemed to have picked up on it as well as he stilled in his arrangement of the blankets for his seat.

“I didn’t know Air Cal flew to Zurich.” Douglas prompted, watching her closely.

“They don’t. He’s, um, he’s house-hunting.” Douglas looked away, not wanting to endure the helpless look Carolyn was allowing to shine through her usual sharp features.

“…Is he?” Martin tilted his head, frowning a little.

“Mmm…Yes. He might…might move there.” Carolyn said, her voice getting smaller. Douglas and Martin shared a look.

“Might he?” he inquired.

“Yes…if he wants to.” Carolyn responded, clipping her tone and trying to school her features back into her usual strengthened resolve. This must have been weighing on her for a while.

“And might you go with him?” Martin asked.

“Of course not!” Carolyn snapped. “Why ever would I?”

“Well, you have been going out for a year and a half.” Martin pointed out.

“Sixteen months.” She corrected. “And we haven’t been ‘going out’, we’ve just been…often in the same place.”

“How romantic.” Douglas said dryly.

“So why might he move to Zurich?” That was a good question.

“Well…” Carolyn seemed to debate answering before going on, “Now look, this is secret, all right? Swiss Airways are launching internationally and they’ve taken over Air Caledonia, so Herc either has to move to Zurich or take early retirement.”

The silence hung in the air for a moment before Martin parroted, “Swiss Airways is going international?” Douglas felt his insides go cold with dread. His mouth was suddenly much too dry. He sank into his seat.

“Yes…although that wasn’t really the focus of my story.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s just…th-th-they’ll be recruiting, then, will they?” Martin stammered, a glimmer in his eyes that tore Douglas’ heart out.

“Ah, I see!” Carolyn smiled. “Yes! Yes, and you should apply.”

“Oh. Should he?” Douglas hoped his expression wasn’t giving away the mental breakdown he was currently suffering, but Carolyn didn’t seem to notice.

“Yes, of course he should. I keep telling him he should be looking for other jobs.”

“Do you indeed?” A stabbing sense of betrayal shot through him. Yes, Carolyn didn’t know, but it didn’t make him feel any less like she’d stuck a knife in his back.

“Yes! I’m fed up with not being able to pay him. He needs to spread his wings.” Carolyn looked at him, her sharp eyes beginning to pick up on his abnormal behavior. Douglas forced himself to redirect her attention, settling on what she would no doubt accept as a reasonable excuse for his upset.

“Even as we fold ours.” She sat back in her seat again, thoughts drawn back to her business.

“Do you not think I should apply, then, Douglas?” Martin’s eyes were locked on him, a look of expectation written across his features. A wealth of deeper meaning hid behind that question, an unspoken dialogue passed between the two of them with Carolyn none the wiser to it.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You could. I mean, why not? You never know.” Douglas tried to keep his voice steady. He hated that they were stuck here in Carolyn’s presence, in a cramped plane, in China. This wasn’t where he wanted to have this conversation, it wasn’t a conversation he’d wanted to have at all. He wanted Martin to stay. “But they’re a prestigious airline.”

“Right.” Martin shot him a wounded look and Douglas tried to backpedal. He hated being put on the spot like this, being unable to touch Martin. Half of his communication skills were physical. This was like being gagged and asked to recite Shakespeare.

“I mean, by all means throw your hat into the ring. I just wonder if there might be a less intimidating ring to aim for, first time.” Martin opened his mouth to reply but before he could Arthur returned from the galley looking sheepish. Luckily his blunder with the catering distracted attention, at least for Martin and Carolyn. Douglas found himself unable to care about the pressing concerns of sustenance. Even if he hadn’t eaten before they left the hotel, his stomach was doing somersaults. He pushed the unappealing jar of baby food to the far end of his tray table and turned his eyes to Martin as he ate, to the subtle shifts in his expression as he inspected the contents of his own jar, poking his flimsy spoon at it before letting out a long-suffering sigh and taking a bite. The first officer swallowed hard and turned his head to look out the window at the frozen air field, the wheels churning miserably in his head.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Would you really let Herc go to Zurich, Carolyn?” Martin asked hesitantly into the darkness.

“It’s not a question of letting him. He’s a grown man.” Carolyn replied.

“Well, yes, but would he stay if you asked him to?” Douglas read the question behind that one…Martin was comparing their situations, equating himself to Herc and Douglas to Carolyn. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“…So I have been led to believe.”

“So it is a question of letting him.”

“Go to sleep.” Martin hummed softly in response and the cabin went quiet again.

“What about you, Martin?” Douglas asked without thinking. “If Swiss Airways took you, you’d have to live in Zurich, too.”

“Oh, I thought I wasn’t going to apply. I thought they were too good for me.” Martin retorted tetchily.

“Oh, I-I didn’t say that…” Great. Douglas felt worse now. It wasn’t bad enough they were having to have these conversations in Carolyn’s presence, everything he said seemed to make matters worse.

“No, you just thought it really loudly.” He could hear Martin shift in the darkness, the proverbial turning his back in bed to shut Douglas out.

“…But would you move to Switzerland?”

“If someone would let me fly airliners, I’d live anywhere they wanted me to and…” Martin paused for a moment, “how far is Zurich from Vaduz?”

Douglas wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. The impulse to out their relationship pumped through his veins, tempting him with the prospect of ending this ridiculous charade…he wanted to grab Martin and shake him, to pour the tumultuous emotions warring within himself into the younger man physically, to make him see that he was killing him. Douglas hadn’t walked away from his three marriages unscathed, he wasn’t sure if he could walk away from losing Martin at all…but he couldn’t betray Martin’s trust, so instead he charged into the conversation full strength, forcing more enthusiasm than he had left in his entire body into his voice.

“Oh, I see! Duxford went well, did it?”

“What’s Duxford?” Carolyn asked.

“Duxford Air Museum is where Martin recently escorted a charming young woman from Liechtenstein. And when I say ‘from,’ I mean the princess of.”

“What, that snotty woman we flew?” He could hear the face Carolyn made even if he couldn’t see it in the dim light.

“Umm, she’s nicer when you get to know her.” Martin said softly.

“So? How did it go?” Douglas asked, trying to keep the aggression out of his tone.

“How did what go?”

“Duxford! How was it?” Douglas said pointedly, trying to communicate his meaning without outright saying it. This was his chance. If Martin was going to tell the truth, the real truth, now was the time. He could tell Carolyn about how he explained to Theresa that he was in a committed relationship. He could tell her how she had been very understanding and gracious about the misunderstanding. He could tell her how Theresa had enjoyed spending the day with someone who understood her true passion for flying and they had agreed to remain friends.

“It was excellent, as always.”

“Learn anything new?” Say it, Martin. Just say it. Just tell her. For me…

“Well no – it’s really aimed at the lay person rather than the professional pilot-“

“I didn’t mean about aviation!” Douglas shot Martin a glare, pain and resentment welling up. He had said he was ready to start telling people. They’d been to see his brother, they’d made it official with Maggie and Emily…but when it came to people actively involved in Martin’s life, there had been next to no progress. The students from Parkside Terrace knew, but it was hardly a leap to guess when Douglas was around so much.

“Douglas!” Martin shot him a glare right back, panic just behind the indignation.

“Oh, keep your hair on! I’m not asking for the gory details…but did you get on?”

“Yes, we did.” Martin said stiltedly. “She was nice. It was a nice day. It was…nice to be with her. She was…very nice.”

“Ah, love.” Douglas said, keeping his eyes unfailingly on a small crack in the plastic overhead compartment above him. “It brings out the poet in us all.”

“I’m not in love!” Martin insisted.

“So are you seeing her again?” Carolyn asked.

“Mmmmmmight be, next week.” Martin admitted, his eyes burning into Douglas. The first officer kept his gaze locked on the crack.

“Ooh! The difficult second date!” he tried not to sound petulant but this was beginning to test the limits of his composure. With every word he grew more engrossed in his study of the fissure, the tiny fractures leaping from the center, spreading their way over the surface. The painful ache in his chest intensified, fractures radiating from the gaping hole in his heart that Martin was leaving.

“Yes, well, third, actually.”

“Oh, really? When was the second?” Douglas abandoned the crack to lock his gaze onto his boyfriend, who was now staring at his own feet.

“Er, well, you know when we had that day off in Delhi?” Douglas remembered. He remembered Martin saying he wanted to take in the sights. He remembered Martin saying he was going to overlook the smuggling of expensive fabrics this once. “She happened to be in Agra.”

“Really? What for?”

“The, um…the king of Sweden’s birthday in the grounds of the Taj Mahal, so we went to that.”

“I see. You took her to Duxford Air Museum. She took you to a private party at the Taj Mahal. Where were you going next week?”

“Croydon Airport Visitor’s Centre.”

“You spoil that girl.”

“It was her idea!”

“Well, you must certainly apply to SA, then.” He said finally, his stomach turning.

“Really?” Douglas was grateful for the dark, he couldn’t stand looking into Martin’s eyes right now. Martin was going to leave. It was an inevitability he’d tried to blind himself to. He’d known from the beginning that it couldn’t last. Martin was going to be snatched up by a real airline sooner or later, and Douglas couldn’t follow…he’d never find another job flying, and even if he could content himself with a career change or altogether retirement, he had Emily to think about.

“Absolutely! Major airline recruiting just down the road from your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend…” Martin said weakly.

“Too good a chance to miss. Even if you don’t get in, the interview will be good practice; and if you do, you might even get to fly with someone who…doesn’t pinch your travel iron out of your flight bag to fry himself a bacon butty.” He sighed. He hadn’t been tired before but now he’d give anything to sleep and escape from reality for a while.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Post landing checks complete, captain.”

“Thank you, Douglas…” Martin murmured softly. The flight home had been rife with unresolved tension interspersed with a handful of abortive attempts at word games. Douglas had spent the long hours submerged deep in his own thoughts, sorting through the tangled web of feelings and drinking cup after cup of coffee. He was in hours, but he didn’t feel like he was. He had eventually drifted into a restless slumber, dreams and reality blending seamlessly together. There were times he hadn’t been sure if he was asleep or awake.

“Can we talk?” Martin asked quietly, eyes searching Douglas’. The first officer inclined his head in agreement and they exited the plane together, walking in the direction of the parking area. “Last night…I didn’t mean to imply that…well, that is…”

“Let me stop you there, Martin…it’s none of my business.” Martin frowned.

“What? Of course it is, you-“

“No, it isn’t.” Douglas interrupted. “If you want to fly airliners, apply to Swiss Air. What you do with your life is up to you, and I’m nothing but happy for you in all your future endeavors. Sincerely.”

“…You know, there’s no guarantee…I mean, I may not even make the interview…” Martin mumbled, leaning back against his car.

“Yes, you will.” Douglas started to lean in to give him a brief kiss, hesitated, and instead took a miniscule step backward. “I have every confidence in you. Now, let’s each of us get to our beds. GERTI is hardly conducive to a solid night’s rest and you’ve got a van job in a few hours.”

“Alright…we’ll see each other later?”

“Of course.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas closed the door behind him and set his keys on the end table, wandering through the empty flat. He didn’t look at the plane documentaries stacked on the coffee table, the pair of mugs sitting next to the sink, evidence of a shared space. He studiously avoided thinking about the newly emptied shelves of the bookshelf. He didn’t look at the perfect amount of bare room near the window for a desk and knackered old computer.

The first officer tugged his tie loose as he went to the bedroom, dropping the strip of cloth onto the dresser. He removed his uniform jacket, opened the closet, and stared for a long moment at the empty space there. He hung the jacket and closed the door quickly. He didn’t look at the box a few feet away, filled with old clothes that had occupied that vacancy a few days ago. He didn’t look at the drawers that were similarly barren. He didn’t look at the small hooks on the ceiling he’d installed three days ago where a model aeroplane or two might find their homes.

Douglas left the rest of his clothes crumpled on the ground, crawled into bed, and didn’t think about those voids in his flat, or the question they had been a preparation for, a question he could no longer bring himself to ask…and he definitely didn’t think about the similarly hollow feeling in his chest.


	18. Yverdon-les-Bains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear, what now? We've caught up with Cabin Pressure! Well, from here it goes entirely into my head for the thrilling conclusion! I may write an alternative ending when the finale episode is released if it doesn't get too contradictory, we'll see. As per usual lately, chapters will come as they come around my hectic schedule. Thank you all so much for your support and continued readership! Thanks sungmee for beta!

“Ask me another one.”

Douglas took a deep breath, steeling his nerves, before flipping a few pages in the manual on his lap and adjusting his reading glasses. “What is the minimum flight visibility and proximity to cloud requirements for VFR flight, as 6,500 feet MSL, in Class C, D, and E airspace?” Martin fiddled with the hem of Douglas’ trouser leg from his spot on the floor, twisting the fabric absently as he provided yet another word-for-word correct answer. He tipped his head back onto Douglas’ lap when he’d finished rattling it off, eyes lit up hopefully.

“Spot on!” Douglas said as cheerfully as he could manage. “Now, can we please do anything but revise? You know all this rubbish.”

“Alright.” Martin conceded, shifting around to peck a quick kiss on his lips. “Thanks…are you sure you’re okay with all this?”

No. “Yes, of course.”

“Really?”

“Martin, we agreed…we’ll discuss it when it’s for certain.” Martin frowned a little but planted another light kiss on the corner of his mouth, then another, trailing soft brushes of lips along his jaw. Douglas started to tilt his head to give him better access until his eyes caught on the framed photo of their trip to the Doctor Who Experience with Emily. He turned his head away and leaned out of the inviting contact. The younger man pulled back, a flash of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Martin, I’m just tired…” Douglas closed his eyes and pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose to ward off the throbbing ache that was growing behind his eyes.

“R-right, of course...we have been at this a while…I’ll just…I think I’ll just go home, see if Andy will revise with me a bit more before tomorrow…” Panic shot through him and he caught Martin’s wrist as he turned.

“Stay!” he blurted out quickly. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck when Martin’s wide blue eyes rounded, a habit of embarrassment, and he added softly. “It’s late, stay here tonight…I’ll quiz you some more in the morning.”

Martin almost looked disappointed before his expression softened to one of affection and he sank into Douglas’ body, embracing him warmly. “Okay.”

That night, Douglas lay awake hours after Martin had drifted off, his arms wrapped securely around his boyfriend’s smaller frame.

“Stay…” He whispered into the darkness. Empty silence was the only response.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas! Douglas, look!” Arthur chirped, bouncing from foot to foot with not even slightly contained excitement the moment Douglas opened the door to the portacabin. The first officer yawned and gave a cursory glance at the object Arthur was waving frantically in his face, long since used to the steward’s antics. What he saw made him do a double take and he snatched it from Arthur’s hands before the boy could continue to curl the flimsy paper of the envelope further, eyes narrowing on the return address and stamp.

“This is…”

“Skip’s got a letter from Swiss Air!” Arthur blurted, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “BRILLIANT!”

Douglas’ throat felt dry as he nodded mutely, forcing a single word out. “Indeed.”

“Yes, well, I’ll have that back now before it takes any further abuse.” Carolyn said as she swanned in from the door to her office, plucking the envelope from Douglas’ limp hands.

“Douglas, are you alright? You look a bit green.” Arthur noted with concern. Carolyn’s eyes narrowed at that and she planted herself in front of him, her sharp gaze on his skull as though trying to read his thoughts.

“If you get sick I will personally assure you don’t survive to be well again, Douglas.” She said finally. Douglas rolled his eyes dramatically, falling back on sarcasm.

“Why thank you, Carolyn. Your concern for my well-being leaves me all warm and tingly inside.”

“He’s here!” Arthur declared with barely contained excitement from his post at the window seconds before the portacabin door swung open and Martin entered, nursing a thermos of coffee. He paused uncertainly in the door frame when he noticed three pairs of eyes on him.

“Hello, Martin!” Carolyn said warmly, discreetly slipping her hands behind her back to hide the letter.

“Martin!”

“Hi, Skip!” Arthur exclaimed, body shaking from the effort to restrain himself.

“Hello…” Martin started slowly, tilting his head a little and narrowing his eyes on them suspiciously. “What’s going on? Why are you…why are you all looking at me like that?”

“A letter came for you, Skip!” Arthur blurted at last. Martin straightened a little but looked confused as to why a letter warranted such a strange reaction from the crew.

“A letter?”

“With a Swiss stamp.” Carolyn amended, pulling the envelope from behind her back and offering it to him.

“Oh God!” Martin took it with trembling hands and slit it open shakily. “Oh God!”

“We’re hoping Heidi’s finally replied to your fanmail.” Douglas said, grateful that he could always fall back on teases when he was at a loss for words.

“Er, okay, okay, okay, er…Head of Personnel, Swiss Airways, Yverdon-les-Bains. ‘Dear Mr. Creuff…” Martin read aloud, eyes scanning the paper clutched in his hands hastily.

“Good start.” A small glimmer of hope unfurled in Douglas’ chest.

“’Thank you for attending our simulator check and technical exam. Your results are…very interesting, and we would like to invite you to an interview to our headquarters in Yverdon on the twenty-first of March.’ I’ve got an interview!” He practically sang as he bounced up and down in an Arthurian manner. “I’ve got an interview!”

Douglas stepped away from the group, hands stuffed in his pockets, noting that Martin didn’t seem to notice in his excitement. He should be excited, the first officer chastised himself. He’s finally getting his shot as a proper pilot. His hazel eyes scanned the wall chart for the twenty-first.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Flip. Flip. Flip.

The sound of paper on paper grated finely on Douglas’ nerves.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

He let out a slightly exaggerated huff of breath.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

“For God’s sake, Martin, will you stop playing with that damn letter?” Douglas snapped, his pencil snapping in two in his hand. Martin sat frozen on the opposite side of the desk, the letter poised in his hands where he had been unfolding and refolding it repeatedly, reading and rereading and memorizing every word for the past two hours they’ve been on stand. His lips parted, closed again as he thought better of whatever response he’d first thought of, opened again, and finally closed resolutely, placing the letter gingerly on the desk before him and staring at Douglas. Those stormy eyes pierced through him, making him feel bare and defenseless. Martin had developed an incredible knack for picking up on the subtleties of Douglas’ body language. Uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze, Douglas shifted out of his chair, muttering something about getting some tea before making his escape from the portacabin.

The first officer gulped in several much-needed breaths of air, the heaviness lifting somewhat in the open outdoors, away from the confining portacabin. Hands in his pockets, he let his feet lead him around the familiar airfield, avoiding the ground crew and eventually stopping under GERTI’s wing. Glancing around, he pulled his hands out of his pockets, tapped the box in his hand a few times until the slim end of a cigarette peaked out, and lit up. Douglas wasn’t really a smoker by the proper definition, he always kept a pack on hand (you never knew when you’d run into someone important needing a smoke or a light, and it always did to have someone owe you a favor, colossal or otherwise), but rarely partook of them himself. He let out a soft sigh, watching the smoke plume upwards into the air from the exhalation.

“Oh, Douglas, really?” the first officer turned, discreetly positioning his half-finished fag partially behind him at the words from his captain. Martin stood there with his nose wrinkled up in distaste.

“Sorry, Martin…if it helps, it’s my first in…oh, two years.” He tapped his index finger against the end to dislodge the ash at the end and brought it back to his lips, taking another drag.

“Is this because of-“ Douglas cut him off before he could finish the thought.

“Can we not get into it now, Martin?” he asked wearily. “We’ll discuss it when you get the job, alright?”

“…Okay…” Martin sidled up to him and tucked himself into Douglas’ side, and Douglas could feel the cracks deepening within himself at the realization that Martin hadn’t even bothered to look around and be sure no one could see them. He carefully folded his free arm over his boyfriend’s shoulders, and everything felt simultaneously so right and so wrenchingly horrible.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“One moment, Douglas. I’m going to come with you.”

“Good!” Douglas said enthusiastically. He needed as many people in the flight deck as possible. It would keep him from dwelling on the empty seat beside him. “The more the merrier.”

“And so is Herc.”

“…up to a point.” This was quickly becoming the worst day of Douglas’ life.

“Always nice to see you, too, Douglas.” Herc said leisurely.

“I don’t know where we’re going to put him, though; sixteen passengers, no spare seats.”

“Yes, well, there is one.”

“What?” Douglas followed her gaze and scowled. “No! Oh, oh no, absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry, Douglas, but you were quite right. Mr. Alyakhin insists on two pilots.”

“But he’s not even type-rated on GERTI.”

“I know. He doesn’t need to be. He’s not going to do any actual flying.” Carolyn smiled, looking pleased with herself for coming up with this work-around.

“Oh, I see. So I’m going to do all the work and he’s just going to sit in the first officer’s seat looking ornamental.”

“Almost right.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” This day was a nightmare. This wasn’t happening.

“I’m sorry, Douglas, but I am a captain.” Herc mentioned, still looking borderline bored with the proceedings.

“You’re not my captain.” Douglas spat out venomously before he could catch himself. Only Martin could sit next to him here. He didn’t want someone else. He wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

“No, but your captain will be busy trying to persuade my new firm to let him be my first officer; so I suppose in a way that makes me your captain’s captain.” Herc smirked superiorly and Douglas’ blood boiled at the reminder of where Martin was.

“No, it doesn’t!” Carolyn fixed him with a discerning stare, a frown creeping over her face and her brows furrowing a bit.

“Besides, I only have a captain’s uniform.” Herc insisted.

“I am prepared to swap uniforms.” Douglas ground out between gritted teeth. Anything to keep him out of Martin’s seat. He was fighting a losing battle.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“So, what do you think?” Herc asked expectantly, and it was impossibly easy to see how hard he was trying to impress Arthur, most likely to score points with Carolyn.

“Yeah, it’s quite nice. Mmm. It’sh not really what I was expecting. I-I thought it’d be a bit more, um, I don’t know…”

“Dragony?” Herc suggested.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe. It’sh all right, though…I quite like what it does to your lips.”

“Your…your lips?” Herc turned slightly to fix a quizzical look on the steward.

“Yeah, you know, the way it makesh them go all short of tingly and funny. That ish quite dragony, I shuppose.”

“Ar-Arthur, are you all…”

“It’sh a bit like that thing you get when you eat shtrawberriesh, which is good, becaush no one’ll let me eat shtrawberries anymore.”

“Oh, no…” Douglas groaned, taking in the swelling that had already begun to puff up Arthur’s lips. At least Herc was having a mild panic attack, that was fun to watch.

“All right, all right. A-Arthur, keep calm and-and breathe regularly.”

“I am calm. Shouldn’t I be calm?” Douglas flipped the intercom on.

“Carolyn, strawberry drill in the flight deck.”

“Oh for goodness’ sake.” Carolyn muttered back in exasperation.

“I don’t need a thtrawberry drill!” Arthur lisped, eyes going wide and now starting to panic properly.

“Douglas, this is serious! He needs urgent medical attention!” Herc barked, clearly freaking out. No doubt he was envisioning the many ways Carolyn was going to kill him for nearly killing her son. Carolyn came in moments later with the epinephrine Arthur needed, dragging him out to get him seated with some water afterwards. Herc took several deep calming breaths, his sky god persona falling for a moment and belying the horror he felt. Douglas glanced at him, remembering how close they used to be and wondering just what had happened that made them drift so far apart. Sighing internally, he resolved to let up a little on Herc, but kept quiet while the other man composed himself again.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Chea for you, Douglath, an’ coffee for you, Skik.”

“Thank you.” Herc replied as he took his cup, passing a cursory glance over Arthur’s swollen mouth again as he tracked the slow progress of the boy’s recovery, but Douglas’ brain had stopped at ‘skik’.

“Wait a minute, coffee for who?”

“Mmm?”

“What did you call him?” Douglas growled, the emotions he’d been so carefully containing since China threatening to spill out.

“Who, Skik? Skik.” Arthur gestured to Herc, not picking up on the dangerous note in Douglas’ tone.

“He’s not ‘Skip’. Martin is Skip.” How was everyone else okay with this? How were they all so unconcerned about the loss of Martin? How could they just carry on as if nothing had happened, how could they just replace him? A lump rose in his throat.

“Well, yeah, but it’sh jusht short for ‘Skipper’, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” Douglas almost shouted. “And he’s not the skipper. I’m the skipper, so don’t call him Skip.”

“But I thought Shkipper jusht meant ‘Captain.’” Arthur tilted his head in confusion, still unaware of the storm breaching the surface.

“No.” Douglas snarled, all the pent-up explosions of the past few months welling up at once. “’Skipper’ means person in charge of the vessel, and as I am the only one on board who is trained or qualified to fly her, I think you’ll find that I am the supreme commander of th…” he trailed off as he heard Martin’s voice join his own.

“Y’all right, Commander?” Herc asked, his tone teasing but his expression going from amused to concerned.

“What have I become?” Douglas sank in his seat in defeat, letting the tidal wave of everything rush over him, the warring feelings of fear, dread, loss, and wounded pride battling for dominance.

“Arthur, why don’t you go tend to the passengers?” Herc suggested gently.

“Okay.” Arthur replied happily, not having registered the shift in atmosphere at all. Douglas sank further into his seat.

“Douglas…do you need to talk?” Herc asked seriously, no hint of jest hidden in the question. Sincerity from Hercules Shipwright, Douglas had thought he’d seen it all.

“I can’t…” he muttered. There was no way to explain all this.

“Love…it makes fools of us all, doesn’t it?” His head snapped around to meet Herc’s gaze, his expression cautiously searching for confirmation of a suspicion.

“…How long have you known?”

“I didn’t, really…not for certain. Just a hunch…Does he feel the same?”

“Does it matter?” Douglas stared absently at the clouds. “He’s moving on…I thought, if I couldn’t have him sitting beside me, I’d at least be the captain. I could live with that…but there you are, in his seat, and…it was as if I was seeing the whole world through Martin’s eyes.”

“That sounds unnerving.”

“It was absolutely terrifying!” Douglas said dramatically, trying to ease out of the serious conversation. Sharing with Herc wasn’t comfortable or familiar, it wasn’t…it wasn’t Martin. “I don’t know how he does it!”

“D’you think he’ll get the job?” Herc asked idly.

“I hope so.” Douglas replied, and he meant it, he did…

“You hope so?” Herc shot him a look that said he was nuts for wishing his boyfriend swan off to Zurich.

“Well, I suppose I feel the way any rat on a sinking ship would feel if he saw one of the other rats leaping into a passing speed boat…pleased for my fellow rat…”

“But a little jealous of his speed boat.” Herc supplied the ending.

“Yes.” Carolyn chose that moment to burst in.

“Whose speed boat?”

“Martin’s.” Douglas responded, silently thankful that she interrupted that conversation. Herc may be slowly gaining ground back into his good graces but he didn’t want to pour his heart out to him, or anyone else for that matter. “I-I was saying-“

“Oh, well, actually, I don’t care.” Carolyn interrupted blessedly. “But talking of Martin, where is it he’s having this interview?”

“Yverdon-les-Bains, near Geneva.”

“Yyyes, now that’s sort of on the way back for us, isn’t it?” Carolyn stated pleasantly, and he could see where this was going. The thing is, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be going there…he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how that interview went.

“Yyyes…it sort of is. I mean, it’s very much going the pretty way…” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, well, it’s only money. Shall we pop in and pick him up?”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas trailed a few steps behind Carolyn and Herc as they made their way through the airport in search of Martin. Arthur had bounded ahead of them and out of sight in his excitement, proving that he was none the worse for the wear over the dragon fruit fiasco. Douglas kept his eye out for the young steward, knowing that his reaction would give away the news long before the rest of them could catch up. When they did finally spot the pair through the mild crowd, however, Arthur just looked thoroughly befuddled.

“Er, hi, Carolyn, Douglas.” Martin almost stammered, offering them a tentative smile that told them nothing of what had transpired.

“Well?” Douglas asked, heart in his throat. He needed to be put out of his misery.

“Hi, Herc!” Martin said as he noticed the taller man.

“Never mind that, how did it go?” Douglas asked again, their eyes locking.

“I-I, I-I-I was just telling Arthur about it.” Martin began nervously.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t completely undershtand.”

“Well, then, tell us! Did you get in?” Carolyn asked with the eagerness of a mother waiting to find out if her child had been accepted to an exclusive school.

“…They’re going to let me know.” Douglas let out a breath of relief. A stay of execution, then. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the opportunity for a little while longer to pretend this wasn’t happening or the hell on earth that was going to be waiting for that letter or call.


	19. "I got the job"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry. This chapter wrecked me. I'll see you next update. Thanks sungmee for beta. Please direct your abuse to my comments. I deserve it.

“I got the job.”

“Marry me.” Douglas blurted without thinking. The silence hung in the air, the sound of his heart thrashing in his chest deafening in his ears.

“W-what?”

“Marry me.” He repeated, swallowing hard and offering a nervous smile. At the skeptical look he received, he pressed on, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his stomach. “I mean it, let’s get married. I…I love you…so stay…stay with me. Even a first officer’s pay is enough for us to be comfortable …we could be happy together…"

“Douglas…” Christine murmured, tears in her eyes even as a smile played across her mouth, the sunlight lingering in her strawberry blonde locks. He held his breath as he waited for her answer. A young up-and-comer in the business strategy world, she’d made her way up the ranks in the company she worked for ruthlessly. She was a femme fatale, everything powerful and sexy in a borderline dangerous way. Now she was going to Chicago to some big corporate job if she didn’t say yes…God, he hoped she’d say yes. She let out a sound that was caught between a laugh and a sob. “Okay…I-I’ll stay…”

“Really?” Douglas gripped her slim waist, resting his forehead against hers. His heart soared, he couldn’t even be bothered to balk at how unsure and timid he sounded. He prided himself on having an air of maturity beyond his years, but in this moment he didn’t give a toss how young he sounded. Tears streaked down Christine’s face as more sobbing laughter broke out and her arms twined around his neck in response.

“W-We’re getting married…” A wide grin split his face as he kissed her, lifting her onto her tiptoes.

“I’ll get you a ring first thing on Monday…God, Christine, I love you…” He kissed her again briefly as neither of them could contain their laughter long enough to make it last.

“I love you, Douglas…I’ll let them know I can’t take the job.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Too young, too sudden, too soon…it seemed everyone had an opinion about how “too much” the marriage was. The first year was rocky, the second more so. They bickered, but so did all couples, especially young married ones. He spent too much time out with his friends, she spent too much money on clothes, he preferred sleek modern furniture, she wanted unique antique pieces, he was away on trips too much, she left the lights on. Their relationship was built on fire and passion, their arguments were heated but always somehow led to the bedroom. Intense make-up sex was a staple.

In the third year of their marriage, the intensity seemed to plateau. They had come into their own, beaten the odds. Statistics showed that marriages that made it past the first two years had a higher success rate. Peace settled in the Richardson house…and then came the shift. The inconsequential arguments of the past gave way to very real disagreements as they entered their fourth year of marriage.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas?”

“Yes, Darling?” he asked, his eyes not leaving the pages of the book he was reading in the dim light of the bedside lamp.

“Could you put that down? I want to talk to you…” Douglas frowned but did as requested, setting the book aside and looking at her with concern.

“How do you feel about…having kids?” Tension built into a knot at his shoulders, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown.

“You said you didn’t want any.” He said stiffly, recalling their forays into the subject back in the early days of their dating.

“I said I didn’t want kids to get in the way of my career.” Christine rebutted. “Not that I never wanted them.”

“Well, there you go. Nothing has changed the applicability of that statement. Neither of our jobs afford the time a child would require.”

“It has, though. There’s no promotion from where I am now. I gave up that road when I turned down the opportunity in Chicago.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…I want to quit my job. I want to have kids.” She chewed her lower lip as she waited for his response.

“Christine…” he made a strained face. “I never wanted kids…I thought I’d made that clear...I thought we were on the same page.”

“Douglas,” she said sharply, cutting off any further comments from him, tears burning the edges of her vision. “I’m not saying let’s try tonight, I’m just saying let’s think about it, talk about it…”

“…Alright…” Douglas said at length. “Okay, I’ll think about it…” He petted a hand through her hair comfortingly and she curled into him. That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling as he contemplated the subject. He didn’t want children. They were loud, needy, frustrating, expensive, sticky, and most of all…completely dependent on their parents. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility. Another human life relying on him for food, shelter, and guidance…the idea was terrifying. He was sure he wasn’t cut out to be a father, and it was made all the more scary by the fact that he had no frame of reference for it.

On the other hand…Christine looked so crushed at his lack of enthusiasm. Yes, she’d gone into the marriage knowing how he felt about it, but she’d sacrificed opportunities to be with him. Didn’t he owe her this much? Then again, was that the sort of attitude one should have when deciding on something as serious as having children? Probably not. There was no right answer…and there was no escaping having to answer one way or another.

When she asked about it again, he asked for more time to think about it. Maybe if he spent enough time thinking about it, the idea would grow on him. He desperately hoped the idea would grow on him…it didn’t grow on him. She pressed him for a response, they argued. Soon all their arguments started to boil down to the baby one. Weariness and cynicism settled in bone deep, the months blurring together until it felt like they’d never not been arguing about kids. Surely having a child was less tiresome than continuing this song and dance…after all, everyone says it’s different when it’s your own, that there's a life-changing moment when you first hold your own baby.

“Christine…I don’t want to fight anymore…” Douglas murmured into her hair, hugging her close. “I love you so much, and if it means that much to you…I’ll give it a shot.”

His wife of five years broke down into tears in his arms, the slate suddenly wiped clean. For the first time in a year their flat didn’t feel like a pressure cooker.

[][][][][][][][][][]

They tried. The first month passed by casually. Christine held back her obvious eagerness in an effort not to seem like she was rushing him into the massive change he’d reluctantly agreed to. The next two months she initiated more sex. Douglas couldn’t say he didn’t like the trying part, though he was still on the fence about the intended outcome. The fourth month brought a plethora of facts about ovulation, a stack of pamphlets, and a wealth of old wives’ tales about the best way to get pregnant. Douglas was starting to feel like he had picked up a second job. It was hard to feel intimate when your wife was insisting you eat this or that and asking about the exact degree of angle penetration was taking place at.

By the sixth month, Douglas was beginning to feel defective. It may not have been his idea, but it was unnerving as a man to be unable to give his wife children. Worse than that, Christine’s frustration had taken a biting edge, and there were times he felt like she blamed him, as if he was somehow mentally blocking their procreation because of his reluctance to have children. At seven months, he finally suggested they see the doctor for fertility tests. Worry gnawed at his insides while they waited on the results. The fear that this would break them consumed him.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas stepped heavily into the flat, dropping his flight bag beside the door and calling out his arrival to Christine. Silence answered him. He took off his jacket, hung it on a hook by the door, and headed for the bedroom, intending to catch a quick nap to combat the jet lag. He almost missed the soft crying coming from the living room. His heart wrenched at the sight of Christine, sitting on the couch with her knees drawn up to her chest, hugging them close as her body wracked with shuddering sobs.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” He was at her side instantly, wrapping her up in a tight embrace.

“I can’t have k-kids,” she stuttered out, gulping in huge gasps of breath around her convulsive crying. “I-it’s me-e.”

Words failed him and he held her closer. In that moment, he would have agreed to have ten kids, twenty, thirty…anything but this. Nothing could make this better. There wasn’t a way to fix this. He would give anything to fix this. Hours passed and eventually she stilled in his arms, her breathing evening out. He lifted her easily, carried her to their bed, and gently settled her under the duvet. He looked long and hard at his wife as he tucked the covers in around her, at how young she looked with her face pink and puffy from crying, and in her place he saw a little girl, a girl with Christine’s blonde hair and his hazel eyes…and suddenly the prospect of having one didn’t seem so daunting. On the heels of that realization came the knowledge that she would never exist, and Douglas felt his heart sink in his chest.

He left the room and phoned the clinic.

[][][][][][][][][][]

They kept trying. The chances were slim but not absolute. Christine was prescribed hormone medication, several treatment methods were tried and failed. The more they tried, the more strained their relationship became. Eight years of marriage, three years of trying and failing and struggling to hold together their fragmenting marriage.

“Don’t forget, Wednesday is another IVF treatment.”

“…Christine…we need to talk.” Douglas said heavily, avoiding her eyes.

“What is it?” he swallowed hard but forced himself to voice the words.

“If it doesn’t work this time…I…think we should stop trying.” He risked a glance at her and the way her face crumpled crushed him. “Darling, I love you, but...it’s been years, and…I’m just so tired. This is destroying us…” He decided not to mention he’d looked at their bank accounts and they couldn’t afford another round of In vitro fertilization. If it were just about the money, they could always save up again, but he couldn’t take another year of keeping a fading hope alive.

“Fine.” Christine said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Looks like you’ll get your own way again. You didn’t want a baby and…” She let out a silent sob.

“Christine, that’s not it, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Douglas.” She half snapped. “Forget it, don’t bother showing up on Wednesday.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Excitement burst in Douglas’ chest as he entered the flat, tossing his flight bag aside and bounding through in search of his wife. As soon as he found her in the kitchen he turned her and kissed her like his life depended on it. It had been so long since he’d felt so good. So long since he’d had anything worth being over the moon about. The sting of ceasing their efforts towards having a baby had slowly cooled in the months following.

“Douglas, what’s going on?”

“I made captain!” he burst out in rush of breathless elation.

“O-oh…” Christine’s tentative smile faltered, wavering at the edges, and his own happiness fled, the thrill of the news sucked from his body.

“…Aren’t you happy for me…?” he asked quietly. He’d worked so hard for ten years, and to make captain at only thirty-five was fairly impressive.

“Yyyes…” Christine conceded hesitantly. “It’s only…I…I have some news, too…They offered me the position in Chicago again…”

A sick feeling started to form in the pit of Douglas’ stomach.

“…You said no, right…? Wait, why would they offer you a job you turned down ten years ago?”

“I…I only asked about it, I wasn’t going to take it…”

“You asked about it? Christine…Christine, you said no, right?”

“I didn’t think they’d actually still want me. It’s…it’s a real corporate job, it’s all I ever want-" she cut off abruptly and started again, "...it’s all I can ever hope to get.” Tears shone in her eyes at the grim reminder of the other thing she’d wanted in life and could never hope to have.

“…You said no, right…?” Douglas’ voice was impossibly small now.

“Congratulations on making captain, Douglas.” Christine said on a half sob, sniffing a little and brushing the tears away before they spilled over.

“Christine…please…don’t…” the broken sentences spilled out of his mouth. He could barely recognize his own voice like this. He floated out of his body, watching his marriage crumble around him surreally.

“The difference between us, Douglas, is I would never ask you to give it up…but I’m begging you to give me up. Please. I can’t do this anymore…there’s too much here.”

Douglas stood frozen and silent for an eternity.

“…Okay…”

[][][][][][][][][][]

They were married for nine years, four months, and seventeen days. Christine went to Chicago, Douglas became a smooth talking captain, and time healed the wounds as much as they could be healed. Communication between them was sporadic, a handful of near-daily phone calls would follow several weeks of dead silence. The first time she returned to the UK on a business trip, they’d met for lunch, stumbled through a tense and awkward meal, and then subsequently stumbled into a pub, gotten smashed, and stumbled into Douglas’ bed. The next time, they cut out the lunch and went straight to the pub. It became a masochistic ritual; he couldn’t give it up, but his heart ached every morning after.

“Hello?”

“Douglas, hi, it’s Christine.”

“…How are you?” Douglas asked, that ache starting to bloom in his chest.

“Fine, thanks. It’s been ages, hasn’t it?” Nearly two years. “Anyway, I’m in town for a few days. Fancy going out for a drink?”

Drink. God, the last time they’d met up had been in the early days of his problem. The gnawing feeling in his stomach increased. He looked down at the bundle nestled in the crook of his arm and it subsided almost instantly.

“A-actually, I can’t…I’m…I’ve gotten married again.”

“…Oh…I understand…Sorry to have bothered you…”

“You’re never a bother, Dar-Chr…Christine…I’d…I would love to see you while you’re in town, if you’d like. Perhaps tomorrow?” Before she could respond, the tiny baby curled up in his arm let out a few fussy wails without apparent reason and he rocked her gently, making soft soothing noises until she settled again.

“…What was that?” Christine’s voice wavered down the line and Douglas mentally cursed.

“Christine…” his voice was strained, and he let out a sigh. He couldn’t lie to her. “That’s my daughter…just a newborn, hasn’t got hold of the idea of sleeping at night yet…her name’s Emily…”

The line went dead. He didn’t hear from Christine again.

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas? Did you hear me…?” Martin asked, carefully touching Douglas’ shoulder and bringing him out of his reverie. “I said I got the job…”


	20. Watch Out for Turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Only one chapter left to go, which will be posted sometime after the 13th, because final exams and bleh. As always your comments are loved and appreciated and thank you sungmee for beta!

“Douglas? Did you hear me…?” Martin asked, carefully touching Douglas’ shoulder and bringing him out of his reverie. “I said I got the job…”

“Oh…” Douglas struggled to pull his thoughts back together from the scattered memories. “That’s…that’s wonderful.”

“Is it?” Martin asked, chewing his bottom lip.

“Absolutely.” The older man proclaimed enthusiastically. Martin’s brows furrowed a little.

“So…you think I should take it?”

“Do you want to fly for Swiss Air?” Douglas asked without missing a beat. He had no doubt in his mind what the answer was.

“Do you want me to go?” Martin redirected.

“This isn’t about me, Martin. Haven’t you always wanted to fly airliners like a proper pilot…be taken seriously?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“But?”

“But…what about…you? What do you want?” What a loaded question. Both answers were true in their own way. He wanted Martin to stay with him so badly it hurt…and he wanted Martin to live out his dreams. If anyone deserved to have that, Martin Crieff did. Which did he want more?

“…I want you to go.” He wouldn’t go down that road again, couldn’t face the day that Martin realized he resented him for those missed opportunities.

“You…you want me to go?”

“Of course.” It was probably wishful thinking that Douglas thought he saw a brief flash disappointment in those stormy eyes.

“Okay…I’ll…put in my notice then…”

[][][][][][][][][][]

They didn’t talk about his approaching departure much in the weeks following Martin’s notice. Barely spoke at all, in fact. He packed up the handful of things Martin had left at his flat, Martin murmured odds and ends about his plans, when he’d be leaving, when he started at Swiss Air. And then it was the night before his trip to Zurich, and all hell broke loose.

“Why don’t you want me to stay?” Martin demanded, swaying slightly on his feet.

“Come in, Martin.” Douglas ushered him in, the faint scent of wine following him.

“Answer the question!” Martin grabbed a fistful of the front of Douglas’ shirt. “Why don’t you want me to stay?”

“Martin,” Douglas took a deep breath, summoning up his patience. “It’s our last night, please don’t make this harder.” It was already killing him.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Martin…”

“Do you want me to stay?” Martin repeated firmly. “Just ask me to stay if you want me to, Douglas.” Anger welled up inside him. He wanted so badly to say those words, he’d struggled so hard not to, and here Martin was tempting him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to want something so badly.

“Stop asking! You can’t put that on me, Martin!” he exploded, unleashing his pent up emotions.

“Why not? Herc asked Carolyn.”

“Yes, and he shouldn’t have done that, either! It’s not fair to her and it’s not fair to me! There’s no version of this where my answer makes anything better!”

“Just tell me! Tell me you want me to stay and I’ll stay!” Martin shouted back. He gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself not to speak those words. “Please, Douglas, just…do you want me to stay?” The older man couldn’t resist answering when Martin pleaded like that, but he couldn’t give Martin the answer he was looking for, the one he so desperately wanted to give. Frustration drove his anger higher and he spoke before he could think about it.

“Fine. You want to know what I think? I think you’re a coward. You’re too scared to tell your family about us, you’re too scared to admit you’re gay even to yourself, and you’re too scared to make your own bloody decision about this job so you’re trying to make me do it for you. I’m not your father, I’m not your husband, hell, officially I’m not even your boyfriend. To be frank, right now it looks like all I am is your former first officer. I am done tiptoeing around your fragile sexual identity crisis, so just go!” Martin looked positively dumbstruck for a minute before a combination of anger and hurt overtook his features.

“Fine! I will! A-and if you’re ever in Zurich, don’t look me up!” Martin slammed out the door, the crack of it on its frame reverberating through Douglas’ body. Regret overtook the anger that had fueled him. He leaned back against the nearest wall and sank slowly to the floor as his legs failed to continue holding him upright.

“Oh, god…” Douglas buried his face in his hands as he realized that was probably the last time he was going to see Martin, and he’d bollocksed it up. This was Qikiqtarjuaq all over again, but this time he really had hit the ground. Suddenly the flat was filled with a new memory that poisoned all the good ones. All he wanted was to go home…

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas? What are you doing here?” Maggie yawned softly, her voice thick with sleep and confusion. She rubbed her left eye with the heel of her palm, her right hand pulling the robe wrapped around her shoulders a little closer. Douglas opened his mouth, then closed it again, not trusting his voice. As her senses gradually heightened, Maggie’s brows furrowed together with concern, noting how drenched her ex-husbands hair and jacket were despite the relatively light rainfall. “How long have you been out here?”

The first officer shrugged heavily, his muscles protesting the movement after their prolonged stillness. He opened his mouth again, forcing the words out of his throat. “May I come in?”

“Of course you can…” Maggie scooted aside, opening the door wider to let him step inside and taking hold of the edges of his jacket, helping him peel off the drenched fabric. “What’s happened?”

Douglas allowed her to take the outermost layer of his clothing, an involuntary shiver wracking his body as he realized just how cold he was. Leaning down, he tugged his shoes off, letting them drop unceremoniously wherever they landed on the floor.

Catching his unspoken meaning, Maggie let her questions die on her tongue, instead murmuring softly, “Emily’s in her room.”

Douglas padded silently down the hall, turning into his daughter’s room and going to his knees at her bedside. Emily slumbered on unawares, her face relaxed, stray locks of hair tumbled over her eyes. He took in a deep, shaky breath, reaching out to lightly brush back those shocks of brown back over her head. His hand trembled against those soft strands, his body following suit as another shiver coursed through him. Eyes the mirror of his own squinted open just slightly.

“Daddy…?” Emily mumbled, “You’re cold…”

A half-hearted attempt at a laugh quickly devolved into a swallowed sob and he pulled his hand away, scrubbing it over his face in an effort to avoid the tears that were threatening, burning behind his eyes. Still half-asleep, Emily pulled the edge of the covers slightly to the side, giving the edge of his shirt a small tug. He followed the movement, shifting under the thick blankets with her and wrapping her up in his arms. She was asleep again almost instantly, tucked under his chin as she had been countless times before. When she was small and he came home late, he would sneak into her room to give her a kiss; and after particularly long trips, her tiny arms would wrap around the closest limb and refuse to let go. He squeezed his eyes shut and the tears he’d been denying himself leaked from the corners, making hot trails down his face onto the pillow. Exhaustion tugged him into a dreamless sleep.

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas woke slowly, pulling himself out of the heavy sleep like a drowning man struggling to the surface. His skull was throbbing with pounding drumbeats, his eyes felt dry and scratchy, and he immediately wished he’d stayed asleep. As he carefully regrouped his senses, he noted that he was alone in Emily’s room, his daughter nowhere in sight. He was at once grateful for the moment to collect himself and filled with a cold ache of loneliness. Rolling over, he stared at the ceiling as he recalled what had driven him to make the trip up here in the dead of night.

Martin was gone. He closed his eyes to block out the thought, taken again by the need to see Emily, to surround himself with the only people he knew could dull the pain. The first officer sat up, shifted out of the bed, and left the solitude of the room feeling like he was walking through sand. Every step felt like a tremendous amount of effort. He paused outside the kitchen, listening to the familiar voices drifting out.

“Mum…what’s wrong with Dad?” Emily queried, her voice intoned with worry.

“Eat your eggs, dear,” Maggie responded, and the sound of a fork clinking slowly against a plate followed. Swallowing hard, Douglas sauntered in, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes if the expressions on the women in his life’s faces were anything to go by. Giving up the pretense, he settled heavily into the empty chair at the table, taking his fork and swirling it absently in the eggs before him.

“How is school, darling?” he asked, if only to relieve the added weight of two pairs of eyes staring at him. Emily tilted her head a little, regarding him cautiously before offering a crooked smile and launching into an animated recounting of a partner project in her science class until Maggie noted it was almost time for her to go and Emily flounced to her room to collect her things.

“…it’s Martin, isn’t it?” Maggie asked quietly after their daughter was well out of earshot. Douglas dropped his fork and rested his elbows on the table, his forehead braced against the heels of his hands.

“How did you know?” he asked tiredly.

“Because the only other time I’ve seen you a fraction this unhappy was after Helena.”

Helena. A topic that had been effectively banned for the better part of three years, and yet the mention of her name barely registered as a source of discomfort in the maelstrom of his feelings at present. Even when their marriage had gone to shit he hadn’t been compelled to drive into the night and bury himself in his daughter’s warmth. The thought gave him pause. He supposed it was probably the suddenness of the loss. His previous relationships had been gradually falling apart long before the final nail was driven into their coffins. With Martin…they had been happy. Everything had been going so well, and then it was over, and there was no comforting sense of relief that the fights and frustration were over. Douglas glanced at the clock. Martin’s flight took off an hour ago.

“…he left.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

Douglas hesitantly pushed the door to his flat open, surveying the silent emptiness. The first officer made his way to the kitchen, put the kettle on for tea, and slumped into his seat at the table, staring at the pattern of the wood grain. The ghost of a memory tickled the back of his mind, Martin sitting across from him some morning past, smiling softly over his mug of coffee. Douglas ignored it and collected the kettle, immersing himself in the soothing liquid. It did make him feel a tiny bit better. A very tiny bit. He took a long sip before letting his eyes drift open again. His gaze caught on the gleam of a bottle in the afternoon light and his mouth went dry, his fingers twitching against the warm mug in his hands. Something dark scrabbled at his insides with a fierce desire. It would be so easy to fall back on old habits…He slammed his mug down and dug his phone out of his pocket, punching in the number with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Hello?”

“Arthur…I need your help.”

“Brilliant! I love helping!”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Hello Douglas!” Arthur chirped brightly when he opened the door. “Gosh! You look awful!”

“…Yes…” Douglas began to wonder, not for the first time, if it had been a mistake to call Arthur.

“What can I do?”

“First, I need you to go to the kitchen and gather all the alcohol you can find, and go put it in your car.”

“Okay.” Arthur said without question, strolling through to the kitchen and beginning to do as instructed. Douglas settled in an armchair while the steward followed through on his directions. “All done, what next?”

“Just…” Douglas paused, thought about it, and finally gave in to necessity. “Just sit with me.”

“Right-o.” Arthur plopped onto the couch, glancing around the room and trying (and failing) not to fidget for a long moment. “What are we doing?”

“Sitting.” Douglas said grouchily, then took a deep breath and admitted, “And you are keeping me from going to the pub.” A flicker of understanding flashed through Arthur’s eyes, and not for the first time Douglas wondered if some measure of his apparent air-headedness was an act.

“Can we play charades?” Arthur asked cheerily.

“…what the hell, alright.” Douglas spent the next few hours guessing half-heartedly at Arthur’s poor acting choices, declining to do any miming himself. Not once did the younger man question Douglas’ need for intervention.

“Douglas,” Arthur yawned as the hours stretched later. “Would you like me to stay over? It would be like a slumber party!”

“…No, thank you, Arthur. You’ve…you’ve gone above and beyond today. Go on home and get some sleep.”

“Okay. What shall I do with the bottles in my car?”

“…keep them. Give the Talisker to Carolyn.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Douglas, my office, now.” Carolyn barked sharply as soon as he entered the portacabin. The first officer stuffed his hands in his pockets as he followed her through the door.

“Finally decided to give me the command?” he asked with nonchalance that wasn’t even feigned. He couldn’t care less about his epaulettes.

“As it happens, no.” Carolyn said, staring hard at him. “…you were with Martin, were you?”

“Did Herc tell you?” Douglas scowled.

“No, but you can be sure he’s a dead man for not doing so now.” Carolyn leaned back in her seat, an uncharacteristic softer shade of emotions on her face. “It was Arthur.”

“Was that all?” Carolyn gave him a calculated stare, but the usual sharp edge was missing from her features.

“I should have seen it.” She said at length. “I was so caught up in my own…well…”

Douglas finally took a seat, sighing lightly. “Herc is in Zurich?” She nodded, looking away. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Nothing needed to be said, really. They sat together in silence, taking a small measure of comfort in the shared experience.

“If I had known…” Carolyn started, then stopped, deciding against voicing the thought. Douglas caught her meaning regardless, it was her way of apologizing for whatever small hand she’d had in pushing Martin to reach beyond their tiny charter jet.

“He’s better off.” Douglas said. “So now we pick ourselves back up again.” Neither of them were strangers to the process. That didn’t make it any easier.

[][][][][][][][][][]

A few months passed, the nights got longer, and Douglas struggled to fit himself back together. Maybe he was getting old, but it seemed harder. That moment he’d feared with Helena, the moment he stopped looking for intimacy, had finally struck. Low-grade depression, his medical training called back to him from the past. It will pass. Maybe. MJN squeaked by on borrowed time, helped along by Douglas logging extra hours to fill out paperwork properly and avoid going home to an empty flat. Still no replacement for Martin, but Douglas preferred it that way.

At his lowest point, he’d driven to Duxford alone. He didn’t go in. He sat in the parking lot and ground his forehead into the steering wheel.

“Damn it, Douglas…what the fuck are you doing?” he whispered around gritted teeth, suddenly angry with himself. He drove back home and made a cup of tea.

A fire had been lit inside him that day, and he made a concentrated effort to improve. He cleaned the flat. He started going back to the airfield pub. He may or may not have started procuring “gifts” for his “friends” at various international airports again. God help him, he was starting to feel normal again, if slightly tempered by the twinge of ache that a stray thought of his captain would bring on, like a phantom limb reminding him of its absence, and the slowly dimming worry that he would run into the man and it would cripple him.

And then there was a knock on his door.


	21. Thank You for Choosing MJN Air

Douglas stopped cold at the sight of Martin on his doorstep. His heart sank into his stomach and he felt all the progress he’d made slip out of his shoes and puddle beneath his feet. Martin made the briefest of eye contact with him before lowering his gaze, ducking his head a little and chewing on his bottom lip. The silence stretched on and the shorter man’s hands fidgeted, twisting the bottom of his t-shirt absently.

“…Hi, Douglas…” It occurred to the older man that he hadn’t moved or breathed in a very long time and he sucked in a deep lungful of air that made Martin flinch in surprise. Heat prickled behind his eyes and he blinked twice forcefully, staving off the flow of hot tears before they were even really formed. The silence stretched on until Martin looked up at him again, stealing away any hope he had of regaining control of his vocal chords.

“…I’m back…” the ginger man said at last, then added quickly, “F-for good, not just for holiday or something…” He let out a nervous half-laugh as he said ‘holiday’. Douglas felt his composure melting away, his features tilting into a pained grimace and this time he had to scrub a hand over his face to ward off the unwanted tears. One look at the expression that painted Martin’s face told him the younger man could see it anyway.

MJN’s former captain looked unnerved for a moment before blurting, “I told them.”

Douglas blinked in confusion, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.

“My mum, and Simon and Caitlyn and everyone. I told them everything. I told them about Icarus and about flying for free and-and-and about being gay, a-and I’m-I’m-I’m so sorry that it took me so long, and I told them about us, I told them about you, I…I…I told them I’m helplessly in love with my first officer…” Martin started to babble, his speed and volume slowly petering out towards the end of his outburst. “I know I’ve no right to ask this, but I-I’ve got to try...give me one more chance?”

Douglas’ knees went weak and he leaned heavily against his forearm, now braced on the doorframe. Every cell in his body was near-vibrating with nervous tension. He finally found his ability to speak again. He tried to say the younger man’s name but it died in his throat. He started again.

“Listen…at my age, and after all the failed relationships, not just the marriages…It takes a lot to put myself out there again…an awful lot, Martin. And I did it once already for you and it nearly killed me. It took everything I had to put myself back together again after that, and I am still finding pieces that need gluing back in…I’m not sure I have it in me to do that again…” Douglas chanced a look at Martin, who had slumped in place on the front step. He took a deep fortifying breath, bracing himself for his next words. “So please make sure I don’t have to, because god help me, I love you, and I think you’re worth taking that risk.”

Martin’s head snapped up and their eyes locked and everything was suspended in time for a brief instant. Then suddenly there was Martin in his arms and the familiar warmth of his body pressed tight against him, his face buried against Douglas’ chest. He gripped the younger man to him fiercely in response, curling his body down around his shorter frame, his chin and nose buried in ginger curls and it was all too much. Tears burned on the edge of his vision and he looked up, blinking rapidly to keep them at bay.

“Your hair…” Martin mumbled against him after a long while, sniffing once as he pulled back enough to look up at him again. “It’s all silver…”

“Oh, yes…I can fix that…” Douglas looked away, one hand subconsciously going to the back of his head, raking through the aforementioned hair there in embarrassment. Dyeing his hair just hadn’t seemed important when it was all he could do to keep from pulling it all out most days and the gray that had only been prematurely creeping into his natural brown when he’d first started the coloring regimen had now overtaken it entirely.

“No!” Martin blurted quickly, drawing Douglas’ eyes back up to his. He lowered his gaze quickly, cheeks coloring. “I, er….I rather like it-like you-like that…”

Douglas couldn’t help but chuckle, the behavior so very Martin. It felt so good to laugh again and he pulled Martin close again when he responded in kind, needing to feel that laughter with touch.

“Come inside, Martin…” he pulled back reluctantly and shut the door behind them, steering him to the kitchen where he put on the kettle on autopilot, the familiarity soothing his nerves that had been ratcheted so high for so long. He braced himself against the worktop as he considered the many things they would need to talk about. They were far from out of the woods yet and he hated how much he was relaxing into this, because nothing was certain. A glance behind him revealed that Martin had taken his seat at the table and it was so much like he had never left that Douglas felt his heart clench painfully in his chest and he wasn’t sure he could do this. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he placed a cup in front of Martin and sat with his own, watching the steam curl up and disappear into the air.

“Swiss Air?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter before he had a chance to chicken out.

“I quit.” Martin sighed. “I’ve been miserable these past months…”

“So why didn’t you…” Douglas trailed off leadingly and took a sip of his tea.

“Come back right away? Call you?” Martin glanced at him and then leaned back and looked away, crossing his arms. “I was angry…What you said that night…”

“I shouldn’t have said it.” Douglas said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Douglas, you were right…your delivery could use some work, but that argument was going to come to a head one way or another.” Douglas took a long sip of his tea.

“How did they take it?” he ventured quietly. Martin’s lips twisted to the side and brows furrowed even as his eyes softened.

“I think my mum already worked it out…Simon was confused but supportive…Cait…” he grimaced. “Cait’s not speaking to me.” Douglas frowned but didn’t say anything, instead reaching across the table and tentatively lacing his fingers with the man he loves. Martin met his gaze and smiled a little, though it was obvious his sister’s behavior still bothered him.

“So what happens now?” Douglas asked hesitantly. “You go back to Icarus Removals, scraping and saving until one day you realize…” he paused, trying not to think the words that had haunted him since Christine left. I’m not enough. Words that had only been underscored with Helena’s betrayal. Not enough. I’m just not enough. It was the first time he’d consciously thought them and suddenly he felt sick, pulled his hand away from Martin’s to scrub both of them over his face, his breathing going shaky. Martin leaned forward and caught his hand again firmly, offering him an anchor in the roiling sea.

“Until I realize what?”

“You should have stayed gone?”

“Is that what you thought was going to happen?” Martin’s fingers tightened over his. “That I was going to wake up a year from now and regret being with you?” The first officer forced a noncommittal shrug.

“A year, three years…nine years…” he swallowed back the pain even as he saw recognition dawn in Martin’s stormy eyes. They’d never discussed Christine further than a single query about how long he’d been married to her from Martin. Somehow the captain was always able to pick up on what line of inquiries shouldn’t be tread.

“…I thought it mattered, what I was flying and what people thought, but if Swiss Air taught me anything it’s that you were right.” Douglas looked up at him. “You were right when you said as long as you’re happy, it doesn’t matter about the stripes on your arm, and it turns out it doesn’t matter what you’re flying either, or where, or what people think of you while you do it…So what if I never fly airliners, as long as I’m flying, and so what if Cait never talks to me again, as long as I have you to come home to...”

Douglas took a deep breath and let it loose again, letting his body relax, the tension leave his muscles.

“So what happens now?” he repeated his question lightly with a smile.

“Well…A few months back Carolyn rang me…she said if I ever wanted a job, she’d be happy to dock her first officer’s pay if it meant he’d stop being a depressing lawn ornament. What do you think? Should I take the job?”

“Absolutely.” Douglas let his smile widen to rival Arthur’s most blinding one, then in one smooth motion stood, tugged Martin to his feet, and kissed him soundly, relishing the small noise of surprise he drew from his captain. His captain…he’d never been gladder of those words.

“…I haven’t got a place to stay…” Martin stated after the kiss broke, as if the thought had only just then occurred to him, drawing a deep laugh from the first officer.

“Yes, you do.”

[][][][][][][][][][]

“Flight plan filed?” Douglas asked as Martin entered the portacabin. Martin nodded and made a small hum around his thermos of coffee.

“Walk-round done?”

“With panache.” Douglas confirmed, sneaking in a quick kiss to distract Martin as he stole his coffee.

“Hey!” Martin admonished, trying to glare but unable to hold back his smile regardless, very much undermining his attempt to look cross.

“You two are revolting.” Carolyn said as she came through, going to her office. “Just be ready to fly in thirty minutes.”

“Hello, chaps.” Herc greeted them as he entered a suspiciously perfect four minutes later with Arthur hard on his heels.

“Why, Hercules, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you arrived with Carolyn and Arthur.” Douglas said theatrically.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing you do know better. Why on earth would we arrive together?” Herc replied calmly with a pleased grin.

“Why, indeed?”

“Oh! It’s because-“ Arthur began but was cut off by Herc quickly.

“We’re certainly not living together, if that’s what you were implying.”

“You’re not?” Arthur looked greatly put out. “But then why-“

“Arthur, tea?” Douglas cut in, sufficiently distracting the young man with a task. Taking a page from Martin’s book, Herc had also quit Swiss Air and camped out on Carolyn’s doorstep for a grand total of three days before she conceded to let him in on the strict understanding that they were in no way living together. She was simply keeping her property value from plummeting as a result of homeless men squatting in her front garden…and if a few of his things somehow made their way into her home, well, that was hardly her fault.

The phone rang, cutting through the light bustle of MJN preparing for flight, and Douglas plucked it up from its cradle.

“MJN Air, First Officer Douglas Richardson speaking.”

“Put Carolyn on.” Douglas’ ears perked up at the familiar voice grating through the speaker and a devilish grin tore across his features.

“One moment, please.” He said pleasantly before handing the phone off to Herc. “It’s for you.”

With that he plopped down in his seat and propped his feet up, mouthing ‘Gordon’ to Martin in response to a quizzical look. Understanding dawned in the captain’s eyes and he sat down beside his first officer, watching the exchange with bated breath.

“Hello, Captain Hercules Shipwright speaking.” Herc drawled down the line. “Ohhh…” a slow grin of recognition crept across his face. “Gordon Shappey, I see…”

Arthur jerked upright from across the room, swiveling to look at Herc with wide eyes. “Dad?! Where?!”

“May I ask what this is in reference to? ….Do you by any chance know what ‘MJN’ stands for? …Well, I think that’s your answer.” Herc said drolly, putting the phone back in its cradle.

“You hung up on Dad?” Arthur gaped, an elated grin slowly creeping into his face as he stared at Herc. Herc puffed up a little, clearly pleased with himself and happy to soak up the hero worship.

“Ten minutes, you lazy buffoons, and stop looking so pleased with yourself, Hercules.” Carolyn called as she bustled past them and out the door.

They shared a look between the four of them and followed her out obediently. As they settled into their seats in the flight deck, the old routine of checks coming back as naturally as breathing, Douglas couldn’t help but feel that everything was right in the world, and as he finished giving the cabin address the first officer gave his captain a smile and said, more for him than the passengers, “Thank you for choosing MJN Air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaand that's it, guys! Deleted Scenes has come to a close! I hope you all enjoyed it and like how it ended! I may or may not add an alternate ending when Zurich gets released, depending on how it meshes with the existing story. It probably won't. In any case, it's not entirely over yet, because I am now working on a companion fic to this one that will tell Martin's side of events, so keep a weather eye out! Martin's fic will be a little different from Deleted Scenes, because there's going to be a lot of focus on his struggle with accepting his sexuality and that could be triggering to some people, so if that sort of thing bothers you I would suggest you avoid reading it. But you do know that it ends happily at least!
> 
> UPDATE: Okay so I couldn't resist and the first chapter of Martin's fic is already up now. Missing Pieces!


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